An Unequal Marriage
by Jessy16
Summary: Takes place right after Elizabeth and Darcy are married. Chapter one sees them sitting in the carriage on their way to their honeymoon. What follows is a tale of misunderstandings, intrigue, angst, and most of all, love conquering all.  Please review.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Elizabeth could feel her heart pounding until she was afraid it would come out of her chest. She sat composedly in the carriage while the sounds of her family and friends cheering and shouting goodbye faded in the background. Her gloved hand, which had briefly rested in the hand of her husband as he helped her into the carriage, now rested on her own knee.

It was the moment that they had been waiting for. They were married – exactly two years since the day of their meeting at the dance in Meryton, the day when they had both secretly determined that they would never be friends. Elizabeth determinedly looked at the scenery, at the fading sight of Mr Bingley and Jane's carriage turning towards Netherfield, at the driver of the carriage... she looked anywhere to save looking at her new husband. But even so, she noticed his adoring stare looking down at her, his head coming closer to her own as she continued to sit in silence and anxiety next to him.

"Elizabeth," Mr Darcy murmured huskily. She felt the back of one long finger stroke her cheek, and drew in a breath. The finger came under her chin, gently turning her face to him. Yet she still did not look at him, modestly keeping her eyes downwards, frozen in uncertainty. "Elizabeth, my love..." he spoke more insistently, a gentle amusement threading through his words. "Look at me."

She somehow found her voice, the words coming out in a whisper. "I can't." Mr Darcy smiled fully now, knowing that this was not like his Elizabeth, but understanding that they had not had enough alone time in the past two months since she agreed to his proposal. She was nervous, but he knew that once he broke through, she would relax. He brought his lips down to brush her forehead, smelling the sweet scent of Elizabeth's baby soft skin.

"Sweetheart, there is no need to be nervous, I just want to see those beautiful eyes." As light as a feather Elizabeth felt his lips brush her eyelids, and with that simple touch her nervousness began to change to desire. She looked up into the dark eyes of her husband, just as his mouth moved to cover hers, a gentle smile on his face. Elizabeth found her lips meeting his once, and then twice, and as they continued, her hands moved of their own volition to the sides of Darcy's face, and her smile answered his.

He pulled away all too soon, with a sigh, his hands taking hers. "Elizabeth, as much as I want to continue that sudden display of passion and vivacity, consider what it would look like to the neighbourhood gossips. After all, we are travelling in an open carriage, and while I am not entirely sure whose idea that was at this moment in time, I would not want news of our depravity travelling the halls of Meryton tonight." Elizabeth laughed with merriment, her eyes sparkling.

"Why Sir," she exclaimed in feigned innocence. "We are married, after all! What could be more natural than sharing a few kisses?" Darcy brought his wife's gloved hand up to his mouth and kissed it. "You, my dear, are a wicked woman. Gives a man something to consider." He smiled into her hand.

"And what's that, Husband?"

Darcy paused. "Just that perhaps that recent display of innocence... was a mere game?" He knew that this was not the case, but hope that in teasing his wife, all of her nervousness would dissipate once and for all. He wanted Elizabeth to feel as comfortable as possible with him in their new life.

"Sir, that is very ungallant of you to say..." Elizabeth withdrew her hand playfully from his firm grasp.

"Maybe so, Wife," he spoke, winking. "But what else is a man to think when the woman he loves is nervous one minute, and then exceedingly teasing the next? What say you?"

"I can only think of one thing, Sir..." Elizabeth smiled, as she turned back to face the front of the carriage, shifting her body so that she was in contact with Darcy's side by side. "That the woman was tempted out of her anxiety by her husband's pleasant kisses and charming smile." Darcy laughed, and Elizabeth marvelled at the sound. It was not very long ago that she had heard his laugh for the first time. Darcy pulled Elizabeth closer to him, and smiled when her head came to rest against his shoulder. He took her hand.

"Fitzwilliam," he heard Elizabeth murmur quietly.

"Yes, Sweetheart?" He was playing with her hands now, wishing that they were bare so that he could touch her skin.

"I was anxious; it wasn't a game... just in case you really thought that." She looked up at him seriously, and smiled with self-deprecation.

"You have no reason to be anxious around me, Elizabeth. I love you and never ever want you to feel uneasy around me."

"I know. I just don't want you to be disappointed in me, in your choice of wife."

"You must never think that. There is nobody else in this world for me. I haven't had the chance to tell you that much since the day we told your family we were to wed."

"That's right... Mama made sure to keep us separated as much as possible. I think she was afraid that you would discover my true character and change your mind." Elizabeth laughed softly. "Dear Mama, and even after all this, I will miss her."

"You can visit your family and Jane, and they can visit Pemberley as much as you wish. Your wish is my command, My Lizzie."

"You've never called me Lizzie before..." Elizabeth murmured. "I think I like it."

"Me also." The conversation ended there as husband and wife smiled against each other, watched the scenery and enjoyed being close. Mr Darcy removed his own and Elizabeth's gloves and played softly with her tiny hands, memorising the feel of the soft skin against his own rougher ones. Elizabeth sighed in contentment, her eyes drawing to the movement, noting the contrast also. Then as the carriage continued to move forward and she drew in the masculine scent of her husband's chest and neck, she fell gently into sleep.

_Please review... If people like this story I will continue._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Mr Darcy watched Elizabeth sleep, smiling to himself with sheer happiness. He could still hardly believe that she was his – after their very shaky start – and that finally she had fallen in love with him. She began to stir against his shoulder, her eyelids fluttering slowly, and Elizabeth found herself looking up into Darcy's warm brown eyes.

"Welcome back!" Darcy murmured.

Elizabeth smiled and stretched. "I'm so sorry Fitzwilliam. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Don't be sorry Elizabeth. It gave me a much required break from my wife's incessant chatter." His lips twitched as he glimpsed her mock indignant expression.

"Sir, you would be prudent to consider what you say, lest your wife stops talking to you altogether. I am certain you would agree that this would not be a successful start to such a new marriage?" Elizabeth's dancing eyes shone into his, as they both tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. Elizabeth was beginning to enjoy the fact that she could laugh with her husband. Their teasing relationship was one she could never have imagined, but one that she knew would be infinitely satisfying. She looked forward to spending the rest of her life laughing with Mr Darcy.

"No, it would not bode well, my dearest Lizzie." Mr Darcy spoke between laughs, enjoying the banter. "I had better take steps to rectify my outrageous comment..."

"Oh yes?" Lizzie spoke archly. "And how would you propose to..." Mr Darcy's finger on her lips stopped her midsentence, and as he removed it, and replaced it with his lips, Elizabeth's only response was a breathed sigh. When the kiss ended, both Elizabeth and Darcy were entangled in an intimate embrace. The air had cooled as the sun set on the carriage and Elizabeth shivered both with reaction to the kiss, and with the evening air.

Mr Darcy took a blanket from the carriage and wrapped Elizabeth in it. "We are nearly there, Lizzie! The preparations have been made. Mrs Jones should have a warm meal and a fire waiting for us when we arrive."

"I am so glad that you thought of taking a short wedding trip to Bath, Fitzwilliam. I have never been there and have always desired to see it." Elizabeth snuggled closer to Darcy, his arm around her.

"I thought it would be a pleasant start to our marriage Lizzie, spending some time away from the distractions of business. I was afraid that if we went straight to Pemberley I would be called upon to complete some task or other, and then where would we be?"

"But are you sure that you can spare the time away Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth took Darcy's hand, slight overtones of concern in her question. "It's just that I know you have spent so little time there while preparing for our wedding."

"Elizabeth..." Darcy replied. "Colonel Fitzwilliam is more than capable of managing while we are away. Besides, it is only two weeks. And right now, _nothing, _is more important to me... than my lovely wife." He smiled as he kissed her hand gallantly. "And now..." he directed her attention to the view as they drove up the hill towards Bath.

"Bath!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "It's beautiful. I never imagined that it would be like this." She turned to Darcy, clasping his hands tightly within hers in gratitude. "Oh, thank you for bringing me here." She leaned over exuberantly to kiss Mr Darcy on the cheek, slight tears in her eyes from the joy of seeing such a wondrous place and having such a remarkable husband who had shown it to her. She smiled in sheer contentment as they watched the ever approaching city.

* * *

Later that evening, following a hearty meal beside the warm fire, Elizabeth started to feel the nervous tension flood her. This was her wedding night, and from the way Darcy had been watching her throughout dinner, she knew that the time was drawing nearer when they would truly become man and wife.

They were sitting by the fire, now in silence, having spoken endlessly throughout dinner and the subsequent hours about the wedding, Jane and Mr Bingley, Georgiana, and the Bennetts. Elizabeth realised that she had never spent this much time alone with Mr Darcy, and was pleasantly surprised and entirely satisfied that she would be able to love and respect her husband for the rest of her life. In fact, she knew now that no one could have suited her more perfectly. She and Mr Darcy seemed to agree on most of the important topics, and those that they didn't provoked playful and teasing debate, which served to offer amusement and entertainment to them both. Yes, Elizabeth was satisfied, finding herself falling more in love with the teasing, laughing, and considerate Mr Darcy every moment. She knew that if she could only get through the next few hours without fainting in a puddle of anxiety, everything would be as it should be.

Mr Darcy watched as Elizabeth became visibly tense. He smiled tenderly as her fingers wrung together. He deliberated that she probably wasn't aware of the outward signs of her anxiety. He wished he could think of a way to calm her. He wanted her to be able to take pleasure in the night ahead, and he knew that the longer they sat in front of the fire, delaying the inevitable, the more anxious Elizabeth would become. He stood abruptly, and strode over to her where she sat curled up on her arm chair.

"Lizzie." He spoke softly, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. He saw her smile softly, slightly more relaxed already. He held out his hand to her. "Shall we retire?" Elizabeth exhaled slowly as she placed her hand into his, putting all of her trust into him as he led her up to their chamber, and passionately yet tenderly into married life.

* * *

Elizabeth was a morning person. When she woke it was usually with anticipation of the day ahead. Today that feeling was intensified at least ten fold. She stirred to the comforting warmth of a strong body beside her, her head resting against a strong neck, the smell of Darcy enveloping her. Opening her eyes, Elizabeth found herself staring at her husband's meagrely clothed chest, the white cotton shirt that he had thrown on before falling asleep last night, displaying glimpses of his muscular chest. She traced a pattern slowly on Darcy's chest, smiling as she looked up and met his dark eyes.

"Good Morning Mrs Darcy!" he spoke tenderly, kissing her lips softly.

"Good morning Fitzwilliam. I trust you slept well?"

"Madam, I slept the best I could under the circumstances." He replied huskily.

"I have a feeling that I would do better not to enquire what you mean Sir..." Elizabeth laughed as she caught the increasingly familiar teasing in his eyes. "However I can see that you want to continue, so I will ask... what could you possibly mean by that, husband?" She continued to draw gentle circles on his chest.

"Just that you, my dear wife, are a very restless sleeper, tossing and turning all night and I know not what! At one stage I almost tipped you out of the bed to stop myself from smothering you!"

Elizabeth laughed merrily. "Oh Darcy," she sang melodically. "My sister Jane told me that I tend to do that. I am sorry if you were disturbed. If it is any consolation to you, it only usually happens when I am in a new place, and should stop after a few days." She smiled up at him angelically. "You could always sleep in the next room to get some relief."

"Oh no!" Darcy exclaimed quickly, bringing Elizabeth's body closer against his own. "Other couples may sleep in separate bed chambers, but I do not feel that we will be one of them. If you are agreeable, my Lizzie, I will keep my bed chamber only in name, and take up permanent residence in your own."

"I can think of nothing I would like more Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth smiled happily up at him. "And now..." she sang, as she jumped out of bed, just as Mr Darcy would have reached for her again. "We have an entire city to explore..." Darcy groaned as he threw one arm over his head.

"But Lizzie..." he grumbled playfully.

"Come on, come on... we only have two weeks! _I want you to show me everything!_" Elizabeth threw open the window and peered out, the pure Bath air swirling gently into the room and blowing her nightgown around her. When Mr Darcy made no attempt to get out of bed, she danced over to him and took his hands, trying unsuccessfully to pull him up.

"What if I promise to bring you back here next year and show you everything then, Lizzie? Then will you let me stay in bed?" He groaned.

"No Sir. You never know what could happen between now and then. There is nothing for it... you must get up and show your wife around this city." Elizabeth danced out to ring the bell for the servants to attend them, as Darcy slowly dragged himself out of bed, mumbling.

"Why did I marry?" he grumbled playfully as he retired to the master's chambers next door. Elizabeth heard the last of his mutterings as he closed the door to his room. "And if I had to marry, why did I marry the liveliest woman in the world." Elizabeth chuckled, and heard Darcy's answering laughter through the door. She knew that this was one of the first things that had made Darcy fall in love with her, and pondered that fact as she readied herself for her first day as a married woman.

_Should I continue? Please review. Feedback and ideas for the story are much appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Elizabeth looked around her and breathed in the fresh Bath air. Even after being in Bath for almost two weeks, she still marvelled at the beauty of the buildings and architecture which made the city so special. Mr Darcy had remarked that he did not believe that Bath had the healing properties that society widely believed, but Elizabeth, though sceptical at first, was not so sure of this conviction now that she had experienced the total peace of being here. Elizabeth had conjectured to her husband a few nights ago that maybe if he would try out the properties of the Roman baths, he might change his mind. But Darcy had consistently refused to leave her alone for the time it would take for him to attend the public baths. Elizabeth smiled from the bedroom balcony, where she had left Mr Darcy sleeping half an hour ago, and remembered their conversation about it the previous night.

* * *

"But surely, Sir, you want to try the baths at least once on your visit to Bath. It might make you change your mind about the magic of this place." Elizabeth spoke as she sat at the dressing table, in preparation for bed.

"Believe me Lizzie," Mr Darcy quipped, as he came to stand behind her at the mirror. "I did not bring you on a wedding trip to be separated from you..."

"But..." she interrupted.

"No buts, my Lizzie. If they allowed women to bathe, then perhaps I would be tempted. If only to have you cease your constant dialogue on the subject. But as they don't, and this is our wedding trip, the benefits of bathing with the men of society, does not signify." He took the hairbrush out of Elizabeth's hands and began to brush her long hair. She sighed with exasperation, a sigh that soon turned into one of contentment, as the gentle touch soothed her. She knew that this was the end of the matter.

* * *

Lizzie watched as the sun rose over the beige limestone of the city, her feelings mixed about leaving tomorrow. On the one hand, she looked forward to beginning her life at Pemberley with Mr Darcy, although apprehensive of becoming the mistress of such a rich estate. On the other hand, the wedding trip had been perfect, and Lizzie had to admit that the beauty of the city had very little to do with it. Mr Darcy had been the perfect attendant, traipsing around after Elizabeth as she explored every inch of Bath, sometimes walking for so long that both of their legs had suffered.

They had shared their thoughts on many subjects, some of which they had not even touched upon during their brief and stormy courtship. They had spoken of their hopes and dreams for the future, both discovering that they were in harmony, and revelling in that fact. Most of all, Mr Darcy had made Elizabeth feel exceedingly loved and cherished, considerate of her feelings at all times. She had no more reason to be anxious in his presence. Indeed, it had only taken a few days before Elizabeth had felt that she would not be able to live without him.

Elizabeth remembered back to the many times that she and Jane had discussed their futures. Long before Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley, and even Mr Wickham had come into their lives. "I am determined that nothing but the very deepest love could induce me into matrimony," she had said to Jane on one of those nights. "So... I shall end an old maid, and teach your ten children to embroider cushions and play their instruments exceedingly ill." Lizzie smiled at the memory. Jane had been right of course, asserting that she would find her match and fall in love with an equal. Little could she have guessed that her equal would turn out to be so well matched in some ways, yet so unequal in others, particularly his exceeding wealth. Yet, Mr Darcy had taken Elizabeth without a dowry, just as Mr Bingley had taken Jane without a dowry. Yes, life had turned out very well indeed.

As she reflected, the sun rose higher over the city, and so caught up in her thoughts was she, that Elizabeth did not hear Mr Darcy stir and pad barefooted out to the balcony. He saw his wife standing facing away from him in the sunrise, a blanket wrapped around her to ward off the cold air, her long black curls cascading down her back. Before he spoke, he took a moment to ponder on just how this witty, sparkling beauty, had become his. He had known before he proposed for a second time that he would be the happiest of men if she accepted. What he hadn't realised was that his happiness could have turned out to be so complete. In all of his years, Mr Darcy had never before found anybody with whose company he could tolerate for an extended period of time – never had he thought that in any marriage he might make that he would so adore his wife that he could not bear to be parted with her. But Elizabeth's wit, conversation and humour made him long to be with her. When he had awoken just now, her side of the bed long cold, he had jumped up to seek her out.

Mr Darcy came behind Elizabeth and encircled her waist in his arms. Immediately she relaxed into his arms, her head resting backwards onto his warm chest. "Good morning, Fitzwilliam." She spoke smilingly. "Isn't it a beautiful morning? I believe I will miss this view when we leave for Pemberley tomorrow."

"Mmm, yes... so will I, Elizabeth." Darcy replied softly, his eyes not straying from his wife. "But Pemberley too has a lovely outlook. Your chamber in particular, overlooks the lake. It's a beautiful view, and I hope that you will be pleased with it."

Elizabeth turned from the view to look into her husband's brown eyes, that were this moment, fixed so intently upon her. "I know that I will love it, Fitzwilliam. Pemberley is an exquisite estate and I will be proud to be able to call it my home." She brought her hand up to cup his face.

"It is not merely your home, Lizzie!" Darcy laughed. "Of Pemberley, you are the mistress. Therefore, you can make any changes you wish and run the household according to your desires."

"Oh... don't remind me of that, Sir!" Elizabeth took her hand away and turned to face the city, still encircled in Darcy's arms. "I have been trying to forget that I will be responsible for such a big estate. I hope that the staff don't resent me."

"_Impossible!_" Darcy exclaimed, releasing Elizabeth temporarily in order to turn her within his arms. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, until he placed his finger over her lips. "The staff will adore you Lizzie, just as I adore you... and just as Georgiana adores you. They are tremendously excited about your arrival and are probably more concerned that _you_ will resent _them_!"

"But Darcy, why would I resent them?" Elizabeth asked in bemusement.

"Exactly so! No more worries my love, all will be well. Everyone will get along... you'll see." Elizabeth smiled adoringly up at Darcy and nodded. "And now that is all resolved, where are you going to drag me to on our last day in Bath? I am at your disposal, My Lady."

"Why, thank you, kind Sir!" Elizabeth laughed, her concerns already dissolved, and her plans for the day ahead dancing through her mind. The day after tomorrow they would arrive at Pemberley, and there would be time enough then to think about the future.

_Please review and let me know if you liked the chapter. Feedback and ideas for the story are much appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Damn!" Mr Darcy crushed the letter that he was holding in an iron fist. He had not felt such anger in a long time.

"Is something the matter, Sir?" Thomas, his manservant, asked composedly. "Mrs Darcy has just come below stairs."

"Thank you, Thomas." Darcy tried his utmost to conceal his recent outrage.

Elizabeth danced into the room, her smile radiant. "Good morning Mr Darcy." She spoke as formally as she was able, although her eyes twinkled. Elizabeth had become used to expressing herself freely with her husband while they were in Bath. However, now that they were at Pemberley, decorum had to be upheld. And so they addressed each other in public as Mr and Mrs Darcy, and were careful not to be too free in their displays of affection. That, they saved for after they had retired for the night. Elizabeth had woken this morning with her back pressed against Darcy's chest, his arms twined around her, and their hands joined in sleep. In that moment, she had been perfectly happy. It was difficult to not run up to him and bid him good morning in a much more unconventional way.

Elizabeth heard the concealed strain in Mr Darcy's voice as he answered her, and she looked at him sharply, coming to his side as soon as she noticed his clenched fist and jolted manner. "What is it, Fitzwilliam?" she spoke softly, her hands immediately covering his in a comforting gesture. Mr Darcy made a determined effort to speak naturally when he answered her.

"It's nothing Elizabeth. Do not concern yourself. Just an urgent business matter that I must tend to." Mr Darcy stood abruptly, absently kissing Elizabeth on the cheek, as he strode out of the room, calling his valet to his office. Elizabeth could not help but feel concern about the event, but imagined that now that they were at Pemberley, urgent business would be bound to keep them apart some of the time.

* * *

It had been one week since they had arrived at Pemberley, to a receiving line of Darcy's staff. Elizabeth's fingers were trembling as Mr Darcy took her hand to help her out of the carriage. He held out his arm for her, and when she took it, he covered her fingers with his. "Relax, Lizzie," he murmured soothingly. He introduced Elizabeth to the staff, including Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, whom she had already met on that long ago visit to Pemberley, Thomas, his manservant, and Catherine, her own personal maid whom Darcy had taken the liberty of procuring for her. Elizabeth was warmly received, as Darcy had assured her she would be. His view of the matter was that Elizabeth was so likeable that the staff couldn't fail to respond well to her.

And indeed, since their arrival, Elizabeth was all the servants could talk about. Thomas had assured Mr Darcy that she was well liked and respected by everyone, and well on the way to being a most beloved mistress.

This morning Elizabeth's mood was dampened by Mr Darcy's strange behaviour. She sighed over breakfast, eating little, unsure what to do now that her husband had deserted her. She sat down, deciding that she should write to Jane, having neglected to do so since the wedding.

_My Dearest Jane,_

_Three weeks have passed since last we saw each other, and I must confess that I have not felt your absence until this morning. Darcy and I returned from Bath last week, and have spent little time apart since the wedding. Oh Jane, Bath was the most amazing place! You know that I have always wanted to go there, but going there with Darcy was even more wonderful than even I could have imagined. The scenery was magnificent – the beige limestone houses are all so similar, yet it is what gives the city its charm. Darcy and I explored the entire city, I must admit that I dragged him all over, walking everywhere as I could not bear to sit still in the carriage. Poor Darcy, I think he has begun to regret marrying me. Although I jest. He has been perfectly indulgent to my whims. On the day before we left, we walked up to the top of the city to see the city from above. It was the most amazing vision, I wish you could have seen it. Jane, you will have to have Mr Bingley take you there soon! I know that he would do anything for you if you wished it, and I just know that you would love it as much as I did._

_There, I have just spent a whole paragraph writing about my wedding trip, without asking you, My dearest Jane, how your time at Netherfield has been? I sincerely hope that our Mother left you and Mr Bingley alone for a suitable period so that you could enjoy some time together. Our Father at least, can be prevailed upon to be sensible, so I hope that you will have news affirming this in your reply. I trust that Mr Bingley is treating you like a queen and that you are very happy in your new life as Mrs Bingley!_

_Jane, I can hardly believe that three weeks ago we were still Jane and Elizabeth Bennett. Did we know then that our lives would change so completely after the wedding? I am now Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy, and the mistress of Pemberley, and I hardly know what I would do without my husband. I must confess that I was very anxious on our wedding day, Mother had contrived to keep Darcy and I separated the entire time we were planning our wedding that we had scarcely a moment to ourselves. I still believe that she did so in fear that Darcy would change his mind about marrying me if he spent too much time with me. Poor Mother, one can only feel sorry for her._

_But I digress. On the trip to Bath I suddenly became nervous in Darcy's company. I felt like I would have to get to know him all over again – our relationship hardly had time to develop while our mother schemed. Unlike you and Mr Bingley, our courtship was like a tempest, and even while I fell in love with him, I only knew the most basic things of him. I knew that he was the best and most generous of men, but not his specific likes and dislikes and opinions. But Jane, Darcy and I haven't stopped speaking to each other for 3 weeks now, and now I know that we are alike. We have settled into a fully satisfactory relationship, based on love, mutual respect, laughter and teasing. I had never realised before just how frivolous Darcy can be. Yes, Jane, we suit each other perfectly, maybe even almost as perfectly as you and Mr Bingley. _

_I wrote before that I hadn't minded your absence so much until this morning, Jane. I hope that this does not offend you, beloved. I only meant that there has been so much I have had to learn and do in the past three weeks that I have not had much time to ponder that my sister is no longer in touching distance. However I do miss you desperately Jane. I miss having my sister to talk to, discuss things with, to teach me to laugh at myself like a husband cannot. Most of all, I miss the anticipation that when I need a confidante you will not be here. I am so glad, dear Jane, that we have both moved into our new lives at the same time, that one is not left behind while the other forges ahead. It makes this so much easier, knowing that we each have found our mate._

_My only other concern, darling Jane, is that my marriage to Mr Darcy is so unequal in so many ways. I am just a country girl at heart, and now I find myself mistress of this vast estate. Mr Darcy has given me leave to make whatever changes that I wish, but even finding my way around so overwhelms me that I couldn't begin to think what needs to be done in such a place. Darcy tells me that once I settle in I will know what to do, however the servants and Mrs Reynolds have things so in hand that I wouldn't think that there could be anything to do. I so genuinely wish to please Mr Darcy and to prove to him that I am worthy of being his wife that I am tying myself up in knots about what to do. At least the servants seem to like me. Oh Jane, I feel so shameful that I have burdened you with this, I didn't even realise the depth of my anxiety until I put pen to paper. I hope, Dearest, that you are not having the same difficulties in your position as mistress of Netherfield Park. No, I am sure that everything will work out, I fear that I am feeling uneasy this morning._

_Dearest Jane, I must finish my letter now, I may take a long walk in the gardens of Pemberley, and think my predicament over a little more. Please write to me soon, I long to know how you fare._

_All my love,_

_Elizabeth_

Elizabeth put down her pen and sealed the letter, her mind uneasy. She waved off the feeling and set out to find Mrs Reynolds to have her letter posted.

* * *

Darcy sat broodingly in his study, reading the frustratingly brief letter for what seemed like the hundredth time. If you could even call it a letter. It had been found by Thomas this morning on the mantelpiece, who had immediately brought it to his master.

_This letter concerns Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley._

_Sir, __I will exact my revenge on you and your loved ones._

"Thomas," he questioned the man. "You say that you found the letter this morning at five, no stamp, no name, no return address, addressed to me?"

"Yes Sir! It could not have been there yesterday as I extinguished the lantern right before I retired at 11. I would have noticed. The letter could not be missed."

"Thank you Thomas. I would like you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything suspicious. This note is a threat and makes me fear for Mrs Darcy and Miss Georgiana."

Darcy trusted Thomas absolutely. He had been his manservant for 10 years, and his father before him. He was the only one of his staff that he wanted to be aware of the threat, for if the letter had arrived between last night and this morning, one of his staff must have known something about it.

"Yes, Sir."

"I have written a letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Would you take this and have it delivered to him urgently?" Thomas took the letter from his master's hand.

"Yes Sir. Will there be anything else Sir?" Thomas asked with a bow.

"No Thomas, that's all..." Darcy began. "Except, no one else on the staff must know about this letter. That is very very important."

"Of course, Sir. I wouldn't worry, Sir! I am sure that whoever wrote that note, wouldn't try to follow through on the threat. Likely, just want to worry you."

"Thank you Thomas."

When Thomas left the room, Mr Darcy was left to his own reflections. He hoped that Thomas was right, and that the threat was an empty one. Colonel Fitzwilliam would have his letter by tomorrow, and then he could give his opinion on what was to be done. In the meantime, he would just have to make sure that Elizabeth was safe. He couldn't bear it if something was to happen to her.

He wondered for the first time since breakfast what his lovely wife was doing. He stood, deciding that it would calm him to see her. Elizabeth usually had that effect on him. He moved to the window, and was pleasantly surprised to see Elizabeth in the garden. She looked beautiful today in a gown of pink, her face flushed and her smile wide. Quickly, he rushed down to meet her, unable to stay away any longer.

* * *

"One... two... three... go!" Darcy stood at the edge of the lawn, amusement overcoming his previous anxiety. He watched as Elizabeth raced to the other side of the garden, two young children at her heels. The littlest child was making unsuccessful attempts to grab Elizabeth's skirt in order to hold her back. "Come on Lucy..." Elizabeth laughed, slowing her pace to allow the girl to catch up. "You're letting Peter and I beat you." She scooped the child into her arms and ran ahead, trying to catch the girl's brother.

"Ha ha! I told you I was the fastest." Peter crowed when Elizabeth and Lucy stopped.

"That you did!" Elizabeth replied with merriment. She whispered something in Lucy's ear and the girl nodded eagerly. "But I bet you are the most ticklish." With that, Elizabeth and Lucy tackled the boy and while Elizabeth pinned the boy playfully in her arms, Lucy attacked him with her worst tickles. The three were in near hysterical laughter by the time they were done, smiling wide.

"I think it's time for you two little ones to get back to your mother. I am sure she will be wondering where her two little pixies have gotten to." Elizabeth ruffled their hair.

"_Must_ we?" asked Peter with disappointment. "You're fun to play with, isn't she, Lucy?"

"Yeah... the funnest! And you're really beautiful too. I wish I had a dress like that." Lucy reverently fingered the pink fabric. She sighed. "Lizzie... can we come play with you again?" Lucy looked through the biggest bluest eyes that Elizabeth had ever seen. As she was about to utter her reply, she turned slightly, and for the first time noticed Darcy standing a few yards away from her. She wondered briefly if he was displeased with her – after all, she was the mistress of Pemberley. Running with the servants children probably wasn't a very good idea. She gulped nervously, before allowing a wide, genuine smile to spread over her face, and turning back to face the children. "Of _course_ you can come and visit me, Lucy. You too Peter! Although I cannot promise that I will be able to play with you. Off you go now, straight home to your Mamma!"

Darcy watched as the children ran off into the woods, waving and yelling their goodbyes as they went. He shook his head in amusement as Elizabeth walked towards him. "I'm sorry if there was something improper in what I just did, Fitzwilliam." She started her apology, only to be cut off by his lips over hers. For a moment, Elizabeth stood as if frozen, but then the warmth of his lips overcame her, and she found herself sinking into the embrace, his arms coming around to pull her in closer to his body.

The kiss lasted a few seconds too long to be deemed proper in a public place. When Darcy pulled away Elizabeth was breathless, and her eyes were dark with longing. He too, seemed particularly affected by the kiss. Luckily there was no one in the close vicinity to have seen the embrace.

"What was that for?" Elizabeth breathed, holding his eyes with her own heavy lidded gaze.

"Because I adore you! _Never _apologise for being the warm, vibrant, & exceptional woman that you are, Lizzie! Mrs Reynolds told me that you were out here playing with the under gardener's children, and if you could have heard the way she said it, Lizzie! You have utterly and perfectly won over my entire staff, and both Mrs Reynolds, and Thomas are entirely captivated by you. As am I!" He took one of her hands, turning it over in his palm and pressing a hot kiss to her wrist. Elizabeth closed her eyes.

"Oh Fitzwilliam..." she sighed.

"Come Lizzie, let us go for a long afternoon stroll in the woods." Mr Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and led her towards the beauty of the woods.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Three weeks had passed, and there had been no sign of any more threatening notes, nor suspicious persons lurking around the estate. Mr Darcy, having the problem always at the forefront of his mind, finally felt as if he could breathe a sigh of relief. Today, there was further cause for celebration, as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were coming to stay. He had been worried about Elizabeth for the past few weeks, not that she had been giving any outward shows of boredom, but he was aware that at Longbourn, she had been surrounded by her sisters. Darcy had taken her away from her family, and closeted her at Pemberley, with nobody of her own age to talk to, except for himself. Elizabeth was his delight, the most lovely woman that he could ever have imagined, and she fit in at Pemberley well. Mrs Reynolds and Thomas absolutely adored her - so much that Darcy had joked with his wife that she had better not try to start a mutiny within the household. For he was sure that Elizabeth would have the support of his entire staff. However, he had not had the time or inclination so far to take Elizabeth out into the neighbourhood, even though he knew that their alone time together was coming to an end. Elizabeth had not complained, in fact she seemed perfectly contented to roam the woods and lakes, play the pianoforte, read her books, and write her letters. Rarely did Darcy leave her side and he wished it could stay this way always. However, Mr Darcy had business to attend to, and Elizabeth was the type of personality who needed stimulation. Before long, he knew she would be bored.

Therefore, a week ago, he had written a letter to Georgiana, who was only too delighted to pay a visit to her sister in law at Pemberley. Mr Darcy had informed Elizabeth that Colonel Fitzwilliam was arriving today, but had not mentioned Georgiana. He had fervent hopes that his wife would be pleasantly surprised. Now, it was time to find Elizabeth so that they would be able to greet their guests.

* * *

"Lizzie..." Lucy's small voice tried to capture Elizabeth's attention.

"Lucy... you are not to call her that, remember what our father said." Peter scolded his sister, while he sat reading a book that Elizabeth had loaned him.

"Beg your pardon, Mrs Darcy," Lucy corrected.

Elizabeth laughed merrily. "How strange that sounds. I would _much_ prefer if you would both call me Lizzie, or Elizabeth if you must. But I guess you should mind your father. Maybe I will discuss this with him." Elizabeth's eyes twinkled at Lucy. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

"I think I muddled it up." Lucy held up the cushion that Elizabeth was teaching her to embroider.

"Let me see..." Elizabeth mused, taking the piece from Lucy and studying her work. "Ah I see what you've done. It's a slight mistake and is easy to put right. Let me show you..." Lucy's blue eyes studied Elizabeth's instructions as she showed the girl how to correct her mistake.

Lucy sighed prettily. "I will _never_ be as good as you at this, Li... I mean, Mrs Darcy. Yours is so perfect. How did you make it so?" She hung over Elizabeth's shoulder to study the difference in their cushions.

"Lucy, let me tell you that I was not always so proficient at needlework. It took _years_ of practice. I am sure that with time and practice, you will be just as good, if not _better_ at embroidery than I am."

"Really, do you think so?" Lucy asked, smiling.

The clearing of a throat made the three conspirators look up from their respective recreation. Elizabeth smiled as soon as she saw Mr Darcy standing in the doorway.

"Good afternoon Mr Darcy," the children each spoke in turn.

"Good afternoon Peter and Lucy." Mr Darcy smiled at them. "Mrs Darcy, I am sorry to interrupt but I believe we have a visitor arriving very soon."

"Oh yes. Lucy I am afraid that this will have to be the end of our lesson for today, but you can take the cushion and continue at home."

"Can I come back to read the rest of the book soon?" Peter asked politely. Elizabeth looked at Darcy, not wanting to give the child permission to borrow one of Pemberley's books, without the master's permission.

"What is it that you are reading, Peter?" Darcy asked with interest, and when the boy showed him he nodded. "I remember reading that one at about your age. Very fine choice. You may borrow it Peter and return it when you are finished."

"Thank you Sir. I promise that I will take care of it."

When the children had left, Elizabeth moved over to her husband. "How can I thank you Sir, for being so kind to Peter? That was very generous of you."

"I would have given it to him, except that it was my favourite as a boy, and I hope one day to pass it on to my son."

"Or daughter?" Elizabeth asked coyly, one brow raised.

Mr Darcy laughed heartily. "Or daughter," he agreed. "Although, I don't think I would fare very well if we had all daughter's Elizabeth, because they would no doubt have me wrapped around their little fingers, just like their mother."

"Darcy, really..." Elizabeth laughed.

"Don't deny it Elizabeth. All you have to do is look at me with those dark, expressive eyes, and pout a little, and you know that you can have anything you wish from me."

"Really? Anything?" Elizabeth whispered, taking his hand.

"Elizabeth..." Darcy growled. "Don't push me." His heart had melted when Elizabeth's lips turned down into a pout, and her eyes stared up at him innocently.

"All I want is a kiss." Elizabeth purred.

"That can wait until tonight when we cannot be seen."

"Just one kiss Sir? There is nobody around us at this moment."

Darcy could bear it no longer. His lips covered hers in an instant, and he gave Elizabeth a brief but passionate kiss, which she responded to in kind.

"Now, you mad, reckless woman, we must prepare to greet our guests."

* * *

Elizabeth was tremendously surprised when Georgiana Darcy stepped from the carriage, succeeded by Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Why did you not tell me, Sir, that your sister was arriving today?"

It was Georgiana who spoke. "My brother forbade me to speak of it. He wanted it to be a surprise, Elizabeth. Oh, it _is_ all right if I call you Elizabeth isn't it?"

"Of course, dearest Georgiana. After all, we are sisters now." Elizabeth took the girls hands in hers.

"Sisters, I like the sound of that. I did always want a sister."

"Well now you have one." The girls smiled at each other in happiness.

"And I hope that you will allow me to assist you with preparations for the ball," Georgiana cried. She gasped when she noted the surprise in Elizabeth's face. "Oh Fitzwilliam, you haven't told her about the ball?"

"No Sister, I have not and I thank you for saving me the trouble." Darcy smiled.

"We're having a _ball_?" Elizabeth breathed excitedly. "Why did you not tell me? There is much to organise."

"I thought it was time I stopped keeping you to myself, and started introducing you to the neighbourhood, Elizabeth. They probably already think that I have abducted you and kept you locked up in a dungeon somewhere. I am sure everyone is dying to meet the new mistress of Pemberley."

Georgiana giggled. "Ignore him Elizabeth. He is being sarcastic. But some of it is true, you know. You will be much talked of at the ball, and we shall have to ensure that it is an exceptional night."

Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke to Mr Darcy. "Come Darcy, I think we should leave the ladies to their tête-à-tête, before we get dragged into organising flower arrangements or some such nonsense. I am sure there are matters of business that you wish to discuss with me." The two gentlemen moved off in the direction of Darcy's study, leaving the new sisters to converse.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Preparations for the ball were progressing well. It was only two days until it was to be held. There was an air of excitement surrounding Pemberley, the staff especially had taken to rushing around in a constant state of upheaval. Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam alone, appeared unaffected by the ball preparations, to the continual teasing of Elizabeth and Georgiana. The Colonel had agreed to take the ladies into town this morning in order to collect their dresses for the event, of which there had been much talk.

* * *

Elizabeth was in the sitting room, reading her latest letter from Jane. They had corresponded several times in the past weeks since Elizabeth had sent her first emotional epistle.

_My dearest Lizzie,_

_I cannot tell you how relieved I was to receive your second letter telling me that your melancholic mood has lifted. I must confess that even in my reassurances of my previous letter, I was concerned about you. I was ready to drop everything to come to your side. Lizzie, things are different for me here, for as you know Netherfield is not 5 miles from Longbourn, and for the past few weeks I have been able to see our mother and father, and Mary and Kitty as much as I wished. If the truth be known, sometimes too much. How different and difficult it must be for you, mistress of an estate at least twice the size of Netherfield Park, and so far away from everyone that you know._

_Lizzie, I knew within my heart, that you would rise to the challenge. Charles informs me that Mr Darcy is incredibly proud of the way you have won over the staff, and says that you have taken to the role most successfully. So, I must tell you also Lizzie, that I am excessively proud of you, for if Mr Darcy says it is so, I know that it is the utmost truth, even though you have not owned it to me._

_I am saddened that we will be unable to attend your ball at Pemberley. I must confess that when Charles noticed my disappointment after he informed me of his urgent business this week, I think he would have dropped everything for us to attend. I couldn't let him neglect his business for me Lizzie, as much as I wished to be there with you on your significant night. Mr Darcy did extend the invitation for us to stay at Pemberley any time we wish, so I hope that we can be together again before long, dearest. In any case, I know that you will not need me there – you will shine at the ball, as you have shone in everything else that you have attempted._

_Charles is the best of men, my dearest Lizzie. I believe that I would miss _you_ so much more, were he not so good. He caters to my every whim, and hardly leaves my side, unless business has prevented him. I too, am so happy that we have both found the best of husbands, and that they are the best of friends makes me even more contented. I only wish that the distance between us was not so great._

_Mother and Father are well, though I believe our father misses you keenly, Lizzie. Mother talks of nothing else than her three married daughters, Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley, of some consequence. I believe that I can imagine you now excessively diverted when you read the above, Lizzie. Mother is anxious to send Kitty and Mary off to Pemberley so that they can meet husbands of consequence. I believe that she now aims even higher for poor Mary and Kitty, although I believe that Mary would be better off married to a clergyman than a gentleman._

_I have no other news on that front my dearest sister. I will conclude now in wishing you my best wishes for the ball, and expect to hear very soon what has happened._

_All my love,_

_Your Jane_

_

* * *

_

"Elizabeth..." Georgiana stopped abruptly when she saw Elizabeth's occupation with reading her letter from Jane. "Oh I am sorry!" she apologised, as Elizabeth looked up.

"No need to apologise, Georgiana. What is it? Is it time to go already?" Elizabeth smiled at the animated nod that Georgiana gave her. She was very pleased with Georgiana's energy. Gone was the reserved young lady that Elizabeth had first met at Lambton. Now, she shone with barely concealed excitement, and Elizabeth believed that tempered with her beautiful society manners, at this ball Georgiana would be noticed more than ever before.

Elizabeth and Georgiana rushed to the door, barely taking the time to put on coats, bonnets and gloves, before going outside to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam for their trip to town.

* * *

Elizabeth and Georgiana Darcy spent a pleasurable morning shopping in Lambton, while Colonel Fitzwilliam escorted them. "Fitzwilliam," Georgiana giggled, "why don't you put the packages in the carriage, while Elizabeth and I conclude our business in at the dressmaker's?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed readily. "I shall meet you in the carriage in ten minutes." He bowed and took his leave, relieved to be rid of the mounds of packages of fine gowns and feminine fancies.

As the Darcy women made their way to the carriage, Elizabeth reached behind her to draw her shawl around her shoulders, noticing that the air had turned cool. It was then that she noticed that her shawl was missing, and exclaimed to Georgiana. "Oh, I must have left my shawl behind at the dressmakers. I shall just hurry back to retrieve it." Before Georgiana could react, Elizabeth had rushed back towards the store.

Elizabeth didn't notice that the shawl was on the ground near her feet, but her attention was drawn to it by a young man sitting nearby. Elizabeth bent to pick up the shawl, thanked the young man, and bagan to turn back towards Georgiana, who was waiting patiently where she had left her. Afterwards, Elizabeth couldn't recall exactly how it had happened, although it seemed like the next few seconds occurred in slow motion. As she turned her gaze from the man who had moments ago informed her of the shawl on the ground, she noticed a glint in his eyes that made her uneasy. She heard the sound of Georgiana calling her name, and that of Colonel Fitzwilliam as she turned and noticed that he was rushing towards her. She caught a glimpse of Georgiana who was pointing above her head, and just as Elizabeth looked up, she felt something strike her on the back of her right shoulder.

Before she could hit the ground, Colonel Fitzwilliam was grasping her, and Elizabeth felt dazed and unsure of what had happened. Through the haze, and the deafening beat of her heart, she heard Colonel Fitzwilliam addressing her. "Elizabeth... are you hurt? If you had not turned when you did, it would have struck your head."

Elizabeth looked up into the concerned eyes of the Colonel and Georgiana, who had rushed to her side. She began to stand, assisted by the Colonel. "It is just my shoulder." Elizabeth spoke, when she was sure that she was not seriously injured. "I believe that I will have a large bruise there tomorrow. What was it that hit me?"

"It was this piece of stone," Georgiana spoke quietly. "I didn't see where it came from."

"Neither did I, but I intend to find out." Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke with much agitation.

"Colonel," Elizabeth said lightly. "I am sure that it just fell from above." She looked above her at the facade of the surrounding buildings. "There... see..." She pointed out some crumbling rock on one of the nearby shops. The Colonel smiled tightly.

"Perhaps you are correct. But if you are well enough I will ask some questions, Ma'am. Do I need to fetch a doctor?"

"I am quite recovered Colonel. I believe my daze was a little shock. Perhaps you would be so kind as to prevail upon the nearest establishment for some ice for my shoulder? Georgiana and I will await you in the carriage." Elizabeth winced slightly as she and Georgiana walked slowly to the carriage, her shoulder bruised and sore. She was sure that she was correct in her assumption that this incident was not through a deliberate action on the part of anybody who bore her ill-will. Nonetheless, the glint of malice in the young man's eyes stayed with her throughout the afternoon, but Elizabeth couldn't be sure that what she saw in those brief seconds had not been imagined. At any rate, her head was pounding and she resolved not to think of it any more.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The rain threatened, clouds dark overhead, the usually radiance of Pemberley murky in the low light. Mr Darcy watched anxiously for the carriage which would see Elizabeth back safely at home. He could not believe the utter transformation of his life in the space of a few hours. He clutched the note in his hand convulsively, his every emotion urging him to go and find Elizabeth and bring her home. Mr Darcy was pale with terror as he read the note again, trying to find something... _anything_ in its words that would render its meaning a little less petrifying.

_Mr Darcy,_

_I imagine you breathed a sigh of relief when you received no note from me over the past month. Rest assured, Sir, I have not forgotten about you or my intentions towards you. You have chosen yourself a handsome one, but the question is... do you care for her above your own life? Interesting theory and one I intend to discover. _

There was nothing. The letter had been penned to terrify, and terrify it did. There was nothing in it that could redeem it. The writer was correct in his assumption that the words had more effect now that he had begun to believe that they were safe from the threats. A cruel man indeed to let this drag on for so long.

However, though any threat was unpleasant, it was his words about Elizabeth that caused Mr Darcy the most fear, for he could not bear to have anything happen to her. When the letter had arrived an hour ago, in the same way that the first one had appeared, Darcy had read it and been tempted to hasten into Lambton to assure himself that Elizabeth was safe. Then his rationality had won over, and he recalled that Colonel Fitzwilliam was with the ladies, and that he wouldn't let anything happen to either of them.

Darcy was certain this time that the note had been placed there by someone on his own staff – there was no one else who had access to the house in the time the letter was deposited. Thomas had questioned the entire staff, and each person had denied knowledge of the letter – which meant that one of them was lying, and consequently, that one of them was working with the villain, either inadvertently or knowingly. _Interesting theory, and one I intend to discover._ Those words seemed to confirm it in the mind of Mr Darcy. There was a spy in their midst. His beloved Elizabeth was under threat, and perhaps Georgiana too. But he could only hope and pray that the threat was merely words, and that it was just intended to scare him. He would consult Colonel Fitzwilliam, and between them they would attempt to discover the identity of the staff member that had planted the letter. Until then, or until something happened to convince Mr Darcy that the scoundrel meant business, everything would carry on as usual at Pemberley, except that he would ensure that Elizabeth was accompanied at all times.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the carriage pull up at the entrance, and stood, planning to meet his family at the door. He knew something was wrong when he heard hurried footsteps coming in his direction. "Master..." A frazzled Thomas met him at the door to his study.

"What is it Thomas?" Mr Darcy asked, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

"It's Mrs Darcy, Sir. She's been hurt..." He did not wait to hear the rest of the story, instead running at pace to get to his beloved.

He reached the doorway and saw the pale, drawn face of Elizabeth, supported by the Colonel.

"Elizabeth..." he rushed to her side, his hands immediately cradling her face and searching her pained eyes. "What happened?"

"I will be fine after a hot bath and some rest, Fitzwilliam. It was just a small accident." Elizabeth smiled at her husband, trying to conceal the pounding in her head and the worsening pain of her shoulder.

"I will help you to your chamber, Elizabeth, and have your shoulder tended to. Mrs Reynolds, will you have a hot bath drawn for Mrs Darcy and a compress sent up to her? I will call the doctor."

"I have done so Fitzwilliam. Young Winton went ahead to fetch him." Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke. "I am sorry Darcy, I should have kept a closer eye on her," he murmured, so that the women would not hear.

"I will help Elizabeth to her room and see that she is well. There is something of much importance that we need to speak of Fitzwilliam, if you will be so kind as to meet me in my study in 30 minutes."

* * *

"Are you sure that your shoulder is all that's hurt, Elizabeth? You didn't hit your head did you?" Darcy and Elizabeth were alone in her chamber.

"That's all Fitzwilliam, apart from a slight headache. I think that I am just bruised."

"I know you Elizabeth. You do not look well. Show me your shoulder." Mr Darcy cupped Elizabeth's cheek.

"No, you do not need to see this, Fitzwilliam. It's nothing, really."

Mr Darcy gently placed his hands on Elizabeth's waist and turned her tenderly away from himself. He removed her soiled shawl where she had replaced it around her shoulders, and gasped loudly, before gently undoing her bodice to uncover her shoulder.

"This must hurt enormously, Lizzie! You have a bruise the size of my hand here." Mr Darcy placed a soft kiss above the bruise, his rage welling within him. And suddenly he was fit to explode. He knew that he had to remove himself from the presence of his wife before he did. "I must go..." he spoke abruptly as Elizabeth was about to say something further. Mr Darcy strode out of the room, barking orders at the staff to tend to Mrs Darcy.

* * *

When Georgiana came into Elizabeth's room after the doctor had been, she noted the concerned look on Elizabeth's face immediately. She rushed to her side and took her hands in her own. "Lizzie, does it hurt much?" she asked, placing her head in Elizabeth's lap. "I was so worried about you when I saw the stone falling. Do you really think that it was just an accident?"

Elizabeth laughed quietly. "_Really_, Georgiana!" she admonished. "I don't see what else it _could_ have been. Do you think there is someone who could bear me animosity? Consider, my dear, I don't even _know_ anyone in the neighbourhood. No Georgiana, I am sure that it was nothing more than a case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"When you say it like that, I am reassured Elizabeth. I could not bear if anything were to happen to you." Georgiana kissed Elizabeth's hands affectionately.

"I feel the same about you, Georgiana."

"Then what was it that had you looking so distressed when I came into the room a moment ago?" Georgiana asked quietly. She picked up Elizabeth's hairbrush and began to brush her sister's long hair.

"It is nothing really - just your brother's reaction to what happened." Elizabeth hesitated, before continuing. "It was strange Georgiana, one moment he was the picture of concern, and the next moment, he flew out of the room like a demon was on his heels. He didn't even return when the doctor left. I am not sure what to make of it."

"I am sure it is nothing, Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam has always had a difficult time showing his emotions. He was most likely unable to express his feelings, but I could see the pain in his eyes when first he saw that you had been hurt, dearest."

"I'm not certain that it was that, although it sounds like his behaviour. Since we have been married, Georgiana, he hasn't been distant with me at all. It just doesn't seem likely – he seemed... almost... tormented. I shall just have to ask him at dinner." Elizabeth smiled and rose from her chair. "Would you assist me, dearest, in making myself presentable for dinner?"

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"I need to know _exactly_ what happened today, Fitzwilliam." Mr Darcy paced the floor of his study, considering all that had happened today, as Colonel Fitzwilliam recounted the account of what had occurred in town that afternoon.

"And you say that you didn't see anyone throw the stone, or anyone lurking around?" Darcy asked impatiently.

"Elizabeth said that she recalled a street lad when she went to retrieve her scarf, but he was no longer there when she told me of it, and she was unable to give me a description which would help identify him. She guessed he was around fifteen years old, brown hair, brown eyes. There are any number of young boys who could fit that description. Maybe she is right, and there were no ill intentions. The rock may have fallen from the wall."

"I am _sure_ that it did not." Darcy thrust the note into Colonel Fitzwilliam's hands and told him to read it, all the while continuing his restless pacing. The Colonel was silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say in response.

"This letter is serious, considering what has happened." He spoke gravely. "Perhaps we should give it to the police?"

"I don't think that the police can help us at this stage, Fitzwilliam. I am quite certain that this scoundrel has one of my staff members helping him, but none would own knowledge of how the note came to be there when Thomas questioned them. I had considered dismissing the whole staff in my fury, however that would be rash and unhelpful."

"What else can be done, Darcy? Elizabeth could have been _killed_ today."

"I _know_," Mr Darcy spoke with barely restrained anger. He strode over to the wall and landed his fist into it, the pain radiating through his arm. "Don't you think I don't _know_ that? I fear it above everything else." He looked haggard with stress.

"You must control yourself Darcy," Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke. He went to the door and called for Thomas to bring some ice. "I have not seen you so angry since we were young boys and I took your dog. Not even... with Georgiana."

"Fitzwilliam, I would have no life without her. I cannot lose her." Prior to this conversation, Colonel Fitzwilliam had known that his cousin was in love with Elizabeth. Yet, he had not been conscious of the profound depth of that love. He believed that Mr Darcy would do anything to keep his wife safe from harm, even to give up his own life for hers.

Thomas entered the room with the requested ice for Mr Darcy's hand. "Sir, do you need me to have the doctor attend to you? He has just finished with Mrs Darcy."

"No, I thank you, Thomas. There is no need. However I would like to discuss Mrs Darcy's condition with him, if you would kindly have him attend me in my study."

A few moments later the doctor entered the room.

"Doctor. I am most grateful to you for coming so quickly to see my wife. Pray tell me, is she well?"

"Mr Darcy, your wife has a bad bruise on her shoulder and a headache from the stress of the day, nothing surprising considering what has happened. She has not broken anything, and within a week or two the bruise will fade completely. I have given her some laudanum for the pain, which she was most reluctant to take I might add. She is a very lucky woman, Mr Darcy, it was a very unfortunate accident."

"Thank you Doctor. You are sure she will have no lasting effects from this incident?"

"I am very sure, Mr Darcy. If there is nothing else, I shall bid you good day."

When the doctor left, Mr Darcy was back to feeling rational again. As he reflected further, the last words in the letter haunted him and filled him with uneasiness. _Do you care for her above your own life? __Interesting theory, and one I intend to discover._ Something lurked at the back of his mind, an idea that he was not ready to contemplate. The person helping this villain could be any one of his staff, and Mr Darcy had no way of discovering who it was until another letter arrived. In that time, this person would see everything that went on at Pemberley, and perhaps feed that information back to the scoundrel.

"I know what I must do, Fitzwilliam." He gulped, gathering all of the resolve that he was able to muster. Colonel Fitzwilliam looked questioningly at his cousin. "I must prove to this rogue and to anyone who may be working for him, that I do not value Elizabeth's life above my own."

"Do you know what you are saying, Darcy?" The Colonel was no longer still, glaring sharply at Mr Darcy for more of an explanation.

"The letter asks me if I value Elizabeth's life above my own, and alludes to the fact that he is going to test the theory, correct?" Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. "On the very same day, Elizabeth meets with an unfortunate accident, that I am now convinced was only meant to injure her, rather than kill her. The man wants to see my reaction – to see how I handle having my wife in pain. And what better way to do that than establish a spy in my own household?"

"Yes I understand all of that Darcy, but what of this proof that you do not value Elizabeth's life above your own? It is painfully obvious that you do."

"Nevertheless, the person that this villain wants to hurt is me. He would not attempt to hurt Elizabeth if I could fool him into believing that I was indifferent to her. In that case, he would turn his efforts to hurting me, and I am in a much superior condition to protect myself than Lizzie." Darcy was truly pained by this plan, but to make it believable, he would have to distance himself from Elizabeth. He knew that it would be the hardest thing that he would ever have to do, yet for her sake, and to keep her alive and with him, he would do anything.

"It makes sense Darcy, but I sincerely hope that Elizabeth understands when you tell her."

"I cannot tell her, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth is too open in her feelings and she would be unable to hide her esteem for me. She _must_ be kept in ignorance of all that has occurred, or she will be likely to give us away and endanger her life."

"She will be hurt by all of this, Cousin," Colonel Fitzwilliam warned.

"I know. But it is preferable to losing her." Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his hand on Mr Darcy's shoulder, offering his show of support to his cousin.

"I will help you all that I can, Darcy. We will catch this man, and everything can return to normal."

* * *

The thunderstorm that raged during dinner that evening reflected Mr Darcy's black mood, and the tight tension that surrounded the usually lively dining table. When Elizabeth had come downstairs, looking much better, but still pale, it was all Mr Darcy could do to merely be polite. It was all he could do to stand idly by in a gesture of good manners while the ladies took their respective seats, when what he ached to do was hasten to Elizabeth's side and enquire after her well-being. She looked delightful in a muslin dress of peach, her shawl wrapped carefully around her shoulders to hide the bruise on her shoulder blade.

"I hope you are well, Madam?" Mr Darcy forced himself to speak impersonally. Immediately, he felt the sharp eyes of Elizabeth on him, searching his face for a sign that he was not so impassive as he had sounded, and he glanced at her briefly before sitting back down to dine.

"I am feeling slightly better, I thank you." Elizabeth spoke softly so that he would have to strain himself to hear her, entreating him to intimacy with whispered conversation. But when Mr Darcy refused to engage, she placed her hand over his, and spoke with concern laced in her every word. "Fitzwilliam, is all well with you?"

He could feel rather than see the confusion that overcame Elizabeth when Mr Darcy removed his hand pointedly from under hers, and picked up his wine glass. "I am also well, my dear. Let us dine." Elizabeth shuddered when he spoke the endearment so distantly. It reminded her very much of the way her mother and father spoke to each other.

Georgiana, noticing the tension, began to speak excitedly about the upcoming ball. "Our dresses are delightful, are they not, Elizabeth? You will be so proud of Elizabeth, brother, when you see how lovely she looks in hers. I dare say that you will not want to relinquish her to dance with any of our dashing neighbours."

"Yes, well, I am sure that you will both look lovely, Georgiana." Mr Darcy pointedly avoided responding to her comments about Elizabeth. "We may even be able to introduce you to some eligible men to dance with."

Elizabeth looked miserably down into her soup, wondering why Mr Darcy was being so distant. It seemed to her that he wasn't even aware of her feelings, and it wasn't like him. She paid little mind to the turn of conversation, brooding on the thunderstorm that reflected her stormy feelings. Without care or consideration for decorum, Elizabeth stood, paying no mind to the Colonel and Mr Darcy who stood as courtesy demanded.

"I confess that I am not feeling myself," Elizabeth whispered. "I am going to retire to my bed chamber. Good night Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana. Good night, Mr Darcy."

When she was gone, Mr Darcy returned to his meal in stony silence. His mood had darkened further by the hurt that he had just inflicted on his beloved Elizabeth. He knew that she would expect him to come to her bedchamber tonight, as he had every night since their wedding night. Tonight, his own bedchamber would be utilised for the first time since his return to Pemberley. Darcy tried not to consider what Elizabeth would be feeling tonight when he did not appear in her room. He wished that there were only another way to solve this problem. In any event, Mr Darcy knew that tonight would be a long, lonely night.

Mr Darcy excused himself from dinner very soon after his wife had retired for the night, leaving Georgiana staring in his wake in bewilderment. She did not know what had come over her brother tonight, and very much desired to find out.

Colonel Fitzwilliam could only hope that the culprit on the staff at Pemberley had witnessed tonight's dinner. He was sure that Mr Darcy's behaviour tonight could convince anyone that he was distant from his wife. But he also knew that Mr Darcy would need to continue playing this part in order to convince anyone that he no longer revered Elizabeth, such an about-turn that it was. Perhaps they would think that Mr Darcy had grown tired of her. After all, most society marriages were based on money or title or beauty – very few were based on the abiding love that Darcy and Elizabeth shared. Wouldn't it be easier to believe that Mr Darcy married Elizabeth because she was a challenge, and having wooed her, he had become bored and would seek his pleasures elsewhere? The Colonel hoped that it would be enough.

* * *

Elizabeth remained awake long into the night, awaiting the familiar sound of Mr Darcy entering her bedchamber. She sat at the open window, the cold air biting bitterly into her skin, clothed only in a nightgown and blanket. She watched the rain batter the ground below, the lightening illuminating the sky, and heard the thunder crash. All the while, her senses were tuned in for any awareness of him. Eventually she slumped onto the bed and slept fitfully, tears falling down her cheeks unnoticed in her dreams.

* * *

Mr Darcy could stand it no longer. He went quietly into Elizabeth's room to check on her. When he saw her collapsed on top of the bed, dried tears on her face, his heart melted. With little concern for his plan, Mr Darcy moved to the side of his beloved, and placed a trembling hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair from her eyes. Tortured by the sight of her, and tormented by the need to lay beside her and hold her in his arms, Mr Darcy placed a tender kiss on the top of her head. He whispered to her in sleep, and was gratified when she seemed to relax at the sound of his voice, yet not awaken. "I love you, my Lizzie. Don't ever forget that." Before she could wake, Mr Darcy padded softly back to his own room to pass the night in waking torment.

_A bit longer today, but I probably won't be able to post again for a few days – work and exercise are calling me. But please please review if you like it, and leave feedback._


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks to you all for the interest in my fanfic, and for the reviews which inspired me to write this chapter. So here is my update. The next one will hopefully be in a few days, unless I get another bout of inspiration._

**Chapter 9**

The day was mild, even at daybreak. Mr Darcy rode hard through the woods and meadows surrounding Pemberley, his horse rallying with the effort. The sun was rising over the hills in the distance, and despite himself, Mr Darcy found himself pulling his horse to a stop to appreciate the scene. He found himself wishing that he was sharing the beauty of the sunrise with Elizabeth, on what should have been the start of one of the most important days of his life – the introduction ball of Mrs Darcy. For the past two days, his tortured soul could not bear to be around Elizabeth, for fear that her concerned and anxious eyes would draw him to confess all.

Mr Darcy had kept himself busy, travelling often into Lambton to try to discover some animosity on the part of his closest neighbours, or word of strange travellers throughout the area, penning brief notes to explain his absence to Elizabeth. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been commissioned by his cousin to chaperone the Darcy women, and he had taken to it quite pleasantly, being able to spend entire days with two beautiful women.

Darcy thought back to his conversation with the Colonel late the previous evening, with growing levels of disquiet.

"_Darcy, are you sure that this is the best way? If you had seen her face when I gave her your note this morning. It was like the sun had gone behind a cloud."_

"_Don't torture me Fitzwilliam," Mr Darcy ground out, pain etched on every feature of his increasingly haggard face. "If I could think of another way, do not you believe that I would jump at the opportunity? It is slowly killing me to have to do this to Elizabeth. But if I go near her, I believe that all of my conviction will fail and I will end in risking her life."_

"_But Darcy, surely...?" Colonel Fitzwilliam pleaded. He was concerned with the emotional stability of the new mistress of Pemberley._

"_NO! Fitzwilliam, would I not be the most selfish man on earth to take what I wanted, only to risk it in the same moment? Would it not shame the love that I feel for her to go to her, and kiss away all of her worries, when in the same moment a viper is waiting to strike that which I hold most dear? Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth is a strong woman, else I would not have married her. She can endure this, and I believe that once she has overcome her shock at my behaviour, she will rally her spirits and persist. At least until I can safely reveal all." Colonel Fitzwilliam was silent through his cousin's impassioned speech, and in that moment, he came to another appreciation of Mr Darcy's character. That he could sacrifice everything he most prized to save the woman he loved from coming to harm. He placed a comforting hand on Mr Darcy's back, a manly show of support._

"_I shall not question you regarding your motives again, Cousin. I see that this is the only way."_

"_Thank you Fitzwilliam. Please, keep a close watch on Elizabeth, and I beg you for any news of her." His voice was quiet, his footsteps sure, as Mr Darcy removed himself to his chamber for another night of hell._

Mr Darcy turned his horse back towards the town, where he planned to spend another day waiting and watching for news that would end this charade once and for all.

* * *

Elizabeth was detached as Catherine and the other servants dressed her for the ball. It was as if she were a porcelain doll, a cold hard shell being dressed up to look beautiful. From her position, Elizabeth could see the lights come on illuminating the gardens and grounds of Pemberley with magic. Three days ago, Elizabeth was sure that she would have felt that magic within her heart, excitement, trepidation, and abiding love, as she was prepared to face her first ball as Mrs Darcy, and the mistress of Pemberley.

Now, all she could feel was cold, as if she had wrapped her wounded heart in ice. Impenetrable, so long as she didn't allow it to melt. Elizabeth shivered, cold foreboding overcoming her once again. And in her heart, a faint sparkle of hope emerged. The hope that Mr Darcy had not been intentionally avoiding her – the hope that when he saw her tonight, he would once again be the beloved husband that she had come to know.

"There, Madam. You are ready!" Catherine sang, her eyes lighting up at the beauty of her mistress. Elizabeth glanced at herself in the looking glass, and knew that she looked well. Never had she owned such a fine dress, such fine shoes or such fine jewellery.

As if on cue, Georgiana came rushing into the room, radiant in a gown of white silk, embroidered with pink rosebuds, the picture of maidenhood with her modestly cut empire gown. "Georgiana... you look radiant. You shall be much admired tonight." Elizabeth enthused. Seeing her friend had rallied her spirits tolerably.

"And you, Elizabeth! My brother will hardly be able to take his eyes away from you in that gown. And that colour flatters you most becomingly. I only wish that you had some colour in your cheeks. You really are still very pale, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth smiled her reassurances that she was indeed well, just that her shoulder still pained her at times. Elizabeth had tried to keep her sadness from Georgiana over the past few days, keeping to her room, using her recovery as an explanation.

"Yes, well that must be it. You know, you must remember to pinch some colour into your cheeks from time to time during the ball. Now, let me assist you in arranging the gown to cover your bruise. I see that Catherine has done a very fine job, nobody will even notice that all is not well."

Elizabeth listened to Georgiana's chatter, distance once again finding her. She was not ready to be disappointed again by Mr Darcy's indifference, if indeed, that was the way he chose to act.

* * *

When Elizabeth walked down the stairs preceded by Georgiana, Mr Darcy muttered, "Fitzwilliam, you must restrain me." Immediately he felt the pressure of Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath as he appraised his lovely wife.

Elizabeth looked ravishing in her new gown, fashioned from the finest silk of the deepest rose and purest white. It was the element of simplicity, mixed with the beauty of the wearer, that rendered everyone who looked at her transfixed. The gown was fitted and low cut in a low vee that hinted at, rather than displayed her bosom. It came in under her bosom, falling straight down to her toes, where the hint of a rose shoe peeped out. The dress was embroidered with silver thread, lace and silk, creating a shimmering whenever it caught the light. The sleeves were simple, covering the tops of Elizabeth's arms in a small puff of rose and white, and white gloves cloaked her arms to above her elbows.

Mr Darcy raised his eyes to Elizabeth's face and hair, allowing himself this one appraisal before pretending indifference. He noticed right away that her face was pale and her eyes tired. Her hair was threaded with pink and white roses, fragrant even from this distance. When he briefly caught Elizabeth's eye, Mr Darcy noticed her searching his for signs of what was bothering him. Darcy ensured that his gaze gave nothing away.

"I must tell you ladies that you are positively ravishing tonight." Colonel Fitzwilliam broke the silence. "A most gratifying view, if I do say so myself, what say you, Darcy?"

Mr Darcy cleared his throat, willing his voice to sound natural, when his whole being ached to tell Elizabeth how magnificent she looked. "I quite agree, Colonel. Mrs Darcy, Georgiana, you both look lovely." He spoke with just the right amount of warmth and distance, careful not to favour one lady over the other.

Elizabeth cringed slightly at the impersonal tone coming from her husband. A week ago, Mr Darcy would have gushed over her, telling her that she looked positively dazzling, while reassuring her that he adored her in whatever she wore. Now, he hardly looked at her. The disappointment struck her hard. So much for the ice surrounding her heart, Elizabeth thought to herself. She held out her hand to her husband, decorum insisting that he should escort her to greet their guests, her fingers trembling as his cold hand took hers.

"Ready to face the throng?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked laughingly, as he took Geogiana's arm and led her to the ballroom in Darcy and Elizabeth's wake.

_As usual, please review! They are much appreciated. _


	10. Chapter 10

_I am aiming for at least 10 reviews for this chapter, so please read and review. This is chapter 10. I hope that you all like it – I have included a nice memory for those of you who are not liking the way the story is going. Don't worry, I promise that it will all work out._

**Chapter 10**

For many years to come, the guests at the Pemberley ball would say that the new mistress of Pemberley was a shimmering ray of light, who captured and held the fascination of every pair of eyes in the ball room. Elizabeth desired no company but her husbands, and in the absence of that, settled for the company of everyone else who paid attention to her. So she danced, and flirted, and talked and sparkled, innocently and vibrantly. The women were envious of her rich gown and fine slippers and unaffected air, the men were envious of the husband who seemed to be paying far too little attention to such a beautiful wife.

When she got tired of smiling, her mouth aching from the tension and worry that had plagued her, Elizabeth slipped out to the garden for some much needed fresh air. In normal circumstances, she would have nearly gasped with appreciation of the scene surrounding her. The fragrant blossoms of all kinds, and in every colour, surrounded her. Something about seeing it at night, lit up by soft lamplight, should have had Elizabeth singing with joy. Tonight, all she could see was a pair of brown eyes, the colour of chocolate, and all she could smell was the masculine smell of skin, warm and comfortable first thing in the morning, and all she could think about was how she longed for those eyes to melt for her, and that skin to heat for her. All she wanted was for him to follow her out to the privacy of the garden, and for his strong hands to encircle her waist in a suffocating embrace. She wanted to be loved, and no longer live with this heart-wrenching uncertainty of not knowing how her own husband felt about her.

As her mind wandered, Elizabeth strolled further into the garden, not realising that she was moving away from the light. She sat on the bench and looked out into nothingness, imagining Mr Darcy as he was on their honeymoon.

* * *

Mr Darcy watched all evening as Elizabeth danced and flirted and talked and sparkled. It didn't greatly surprise him that men of all ages flocked around her, fighting for her hand in a dance, her attention during a conversation, to be on the receiving end of one of her smiles. He wished that he could be one of them, that she would smile that way for him again. Mr Darcy knew that it was of his own making, however he couldn't control the green eye of jealousy that cloaked him when Elizabeth was being held too tightly in one of his neighbours arms. It was all he could do to stand passively back, and almost beyond his capabilities to act out his disinterest and not give in to his need to watch her all night.

Mr Darcy could never afterwards have said how he managed to sense Elizabeth's whereabouts throughout the ball, without actually watching her, but somehow he did it. He knew that she had left the room, even before he saw that she was no longer there, and somehow he stole out unnoticed to follow her. Darcy told himself that he just wanted to see that Elizabeth was safe. But he knew in his heart that she could lure him to the grave if she had the mind to.

* * *

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was lost in her memories.

_She trembled, her fear of what was to come mingling with excitement. Nothing in her previous experience had prepared her to face her wedding night. Darcy was so kind and considerate, and she felt a passionate regard for him like nothing she had ever known. When his soft knock upon the door alerted Elizabeth to his presence, Elizabeth turned her head to face him, her body facing the mirror, smiling the most natural smile that she could manage. Yet she felt that it probably looked more like a grimace to Darcy, her whole body including her lips now trembling. "Lizzie, there is no need to be scared." Darcy came to her side to reassure her. "I won't hurt you."_

"_I know," she whispered._

"_I promise." He murmured, placing his hands into her loosened hair, and extracting the remaining pins. "I cherish you..." He placed a kiss atop her head. "I adore you..." His hands raked through her long black curls. He buried his face into Elizabeth's hair and inhaled deeply. She smelt like apples and roses. Elizabeth could only sigh, wide-eyed and awed with this man._

_Darcy brushed her hair away from her neck and placed soft, tender kisses on its nape. Instinctually, her neck tilted to one side to allow him greater access, as he moved in front of her, tilted her face up to his own, and placed his lips upon hers. And soon she was returning his kiss, her passion blossoming. _

Elizabeth found herself sighing as she recalled the perfect night. Mr Darcy had been perfect, relaxing her with those kisses, and then leading her over to the bed when she was pleading for more. He had led her slowly and sweetly into love-making, so that there was only the slightest twinge of pain before pleasure took over. And afterwards, Mr Darcy had pulled her to him, held tightly in his embrace, her head resting on his chest and learning the beat of his heart.

So carried away in her reminiscences was Elizabeth, that she didn't hear the intruder until it he was almost upon her. In the darkness, she could make out the tall figure of a man, but until he spoke, she wasn't aware that it was the object of her sweet memory.

"Elizabeth... where are you?" Mr Darcy couldn't see her, but he knew that she was there. He could smell the rose and apple scent that he had come to know. "It is really dark out here, you really shouldn't be here alone."

Elizabeth stepped out from the hidden area where her bench was positioned, and then Darcy could see her clearly, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, her eyes glazed with frenzied excitement.

Before he could protest, Elizabeth was in his arms, her slender limbs wrapped around him in a vice like grip, her body pressed up against his as close as she could get it, and her head turned into his neck. "Oh, Fitzwilliam, I was daydreaming that you would come." Her warm breath fell on his neck, her lips so close to where his pulse raced, his heart pounding until Darcy was sure that it would burst.

"Elizabeth..." Darcy whispered unsteadily, his arms coming around her of their own volition, his entire being yearning to keep her there.

She spoke in a rush. "I was remembering our wedding night, and the blissful days afterwards. I knew that you wouldn't forget. You _couldn't_ forget how right we are for each other." In a few short seconds, Elizabeth had shown more vulnerability to Darcy than she ever had before. Yet, Mr Darcy struggled with his warring feelings – his heart urging him to give in – his head warning him to stop this while he was still able.

"I came to see that you were okay! When I turned around you weren't there." Darcy explained.

"I am surprised that you noticed. You haven't danced with me even once!" Elizabeth scolded quietly, her entire body still moulded to his, her voice shaking with the helplessness of her emotions.

"Please kiss me?" She pleaded softly, lifting her head from his shoulder long enough to look enticingly up at Darcy, her lips turned down sensuously awaiting his kiss.

"Elizabeth... don't..." he groaned in a torrent of agony. "We can't... _I _can't..." He grasped her upper arms and put her away from him.

"I don't understand. Fitzwilliam, something is very wrong. Tell me what it is." Elizabeth demanded of him, trembling even as she said the words, her eyes filling with unshed tears at his rejection.

"I can't Elizabeth. I wish that there could be an easier way. I pray that you will forgive me for what I have done to you."

"Fitzwilliam... please..." Elizabeth choked the plea out through her tears of grief. But he had left her in the garden where she had begged for his love, that which he denied her. Irrational Elizabeth took over at that moment, and she decided that Darcy no longer loved her and didn't want to have to find a way to tell her. In that moment, rational Elizabeth had ceased to exist and life, for the first time since Lydia had eloped with Wickham, life looked eternally miserable. How could she live with Darcy, yet distant from him in all the ways that mattered?

* * *

_My Darling Wife,_

_I know not how much longer I shall have to keep up this ridiculous farce. However I cannot bear to go any longer without at least writing to you of the things in my heart that I would say to you if I could. I hope and pray that by doing this, if not today, sometime in the future when all of this is behind us, you will know what I was thinking – and that my primary thoughts were of you! How cruel you must think me, my beloved Lizzie, for I have stayed as much away from you as is humanly possible in the past days._

_In doing so, I believe that I hurt myself as much as I hurt you. Lizzie, the thoughts that must be going through your brilliant mind, as you await me in our bed-chamber, only for me to disappoint you once again. Yes, Lizzie, for I still think of it as ours, and as soon as I am able, I will take up residence there once again. If you will still permit me. I know you well, my love, and know that my actions will be difficult to forgive – but I assure you that I do it for you! In an attempt to save your life! For I could not live without you. Not after finally having found you. I apologise for my clumsy words and stilted sentences, darling, but you always knew that I was awkward with words, and there is much to say that rushes through my heart tonight._

_Tonight you looked like a dream in your ball gown, your beauty radiant. But your eyes were dulled my love, and it pains me to know that I caused that. Still, you sparkled, capturing the eye of every young man in the room. How I wanted to take you in my arms to declare that you were mine! So ecstatic in marriage that you would never stray. I desperately desired to dance every dance with you, hold you close to my side when the dances ceased, and laugh with you in your diversions. The ball tormented me, Lizzie, you tormented me! But I was proud at the certainty that you would raise yourself above all, and act as you did. Truly, you were born to be mistress of Pemberley. I desperately wanted to kiss you when you asked me in the moonlight – indeed it took every ounce of strength that I have to pull you away from me. But I couldn't, Lizzie, and you will one day understand._

_I confess that I have been stealing into your chamber in the early hours of the morning, when you are sound asleep, if only to assure myself that you are still there and are well. How I have longed to wrap you into my arms and hold you, to wipe the remnants of tears and hurt and heartbreak from your lovely face. You were never meant to cry, Lizzie, you were created to laugh, and it tortures me that i have brought you to tears on more than one occasion._

_Know that I will always love you._

_Yours,_

_Fitzwilliam_

He sighed as he sealed the epistle. One day soon, Elizabeth would read that letter, and hopefully it would help her to understand the true depth of Darcy's feelings for her.

_Please help me to reach my target of at least 10 reviews. All feedback is much appreciated. _


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for the reviews. I understand that everyone wants Lizzie to get angry, but trust me, there is a good reason why she hasn't yet. I am sure you will love the plot development when it comes along. In this chapter Lizzie does start to explain why she hasn't confronted Darcy yet. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 11**

"What is going on Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana demanded as she stormed into her brother's study, one evening a week later.

Mr Darcy looked up from the correspondence that he had been examining, his face set in grave lines. "I have no idea to what you are referring, Georgiana." He answered haughtily, knowing exactly what she was referring to. He was actually surprised that it had taken her this long to interfere.

"I think you do, brother, and I think that you owe Elizabeth an explanation for your behaviour towards her." Georgiana stood defensively, raising herself to her full height, hands on hips, high colour in her cheeks.

"I see nothing wrong regarding my conduct to my wife, Georgiana, it has been perfectly courteous, and I will thank you not to discuss issues of which you have no knowledge or business." Mr Darcy stood, unable to contain his agitation.

"_Nothing wrong_..." Georgiana scoffed. "_Courteous_..." A scornful laugh escaped her. "_I thought_ you _loved_ her, Fitzwilliam. No man is merely _courteous_ to his wife unless he married her for convenience. You have been avoiding Elizabeth like the plague, brother. I believe she thinks you care nothing for her at all."

Mr Darcy felt his heart sink at the harsh words coming from his sister. He hated having to deceive her like this, but it was essential to his plan. "You speak nonsense, Georgiana. I have been merely busy with business affairs that I have long neglected. I do not have the time required to placate two irrational women." He turned away from her to stare out into the night.

"_Irrational_, Sir?" Georgiana was appalled when her voice rose and she felt tears welling in her own eyes. "Have you bothered to _look_ at Elizabeth lately? Have you _seen_ how despondent she seems? I dare say you haven't noticed, since you are do not grace us with your presence."

"And did Elizabeth tell you that I am the cause of this... despondency?" Mr Darcy turned to challenge his sister.

"It is obvious... I only have to look at her."

"Have you considered, Georgiana, that Elizabeth may be missing her family, and that it is nothing at all to do with how you seem to misconstrue my treatment of her?" Mr Darcy knew that he had given his sister pause, and took the opportunity to sit down at his desk. "If that is the only issue requiring my attention, I will bid you goodnight, Georgiana. I hope you have a pleasant journey back to London tomorrow."

Georgiana, though angry, still respected and loved her brother, and through years of practice, found herself turning towards the door. She knew that he had nothing further to say. At the door, she made a split-second decision to speak once more. She could not leave for London and her previous engagements tomorrow, without knowing that she had tried once more. "Fitzwilliam... please..." she began, and forged ahead even when she heard the warning growl that came from him. "Just think about Elizabeth, and how this must be hurting her. I know you, and I know that you still love her, because your constancy is one of your greatest qualities. But whatever it is, I beg you, tell her. Show her that you trust her and value her opinion. She loves you, Fitzwilliam, but if you continue like this, you are in danger of losing the only woman that has ever moved you." Georgiana looked at her brother's ashen face as he stared ahead with a defeated look in his brown eyes. He remained silent.

"Farewell, Fitzwilliam. I pray that you will make this right." Georgiana turned, padding quietly from the room, knowing that something was not right here at Pemberley, and that her brother was keeping it from all of them.

* * *

Elizabeth stared ahead. It seemed to be all she did these days. Except when she had Georgiana to divert her. Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to escort the Darcy women around, however they saw him less as they went out less often since the ball. Elizabeth had been invited to many social engagements in the week following the ball, some of which she had accepted reluctantly, and others she had declined with some excuse or other.

A letter from Jane was in her hands, one which she had not been able to work up the energy to respond to. Jane was exceptionally happy in her marriage, just as Elizabeth should have been. Yet since the night of the ball, Mr Darcy had barely spoken to her, only in polite conversation. When he had been forced to attend social engagements with her, he had been pleasant enough to the company, all the while keeping a noticeable distance from her.

She had tried to confront Mr Darcy with her concerns during the week, but it seemed that there was never a good time. A long time ago, Elizabeth had learned that Mr Darcy did not abide public scenes, and now it seemed that she was never alone with him to discuss it in private, whether by accident or design. He would not thank her for bringing his behaviour up in front of his cousin and sister. The times when she had gone to his study, hoping to find him in, she had been left unsatisfied. He seemed to be always out, or on his way out. Elizabeth had to face the truth... Mr Darcy did not want to talk to her.

To make it worse, now Georgiana was gone, leaving early this morning at Elizabeth's insistence. Georgiana had asked Elizabeth if she wanted her to stay, and while Elizabeth wanted her company, she knew that Georgiana being with her would solve nothing. She left with the assurance to Elizabeth that she knew her brother and that he was still in love with her. Elizabeth laughed a bitter laugh, a sound foreign to her own ears.

* * *

Mr Darcy sat in his office, his spirits elated with Colonel Fitzwilliam's news. "I have managed to trace the young lad that was present at the time of Elizabeth's attack. His name is John Hughes, he is only 17 years old. I questioned the lad, and he owned that he had been paid handsomely to take Elizabeth's shawl and drop it on the ground precisely where she found it."

"Did he say who paid him to do it?" Darcy strode around the desk, eyes shining with fascination.

"He wouldn't at first. However, when I threatened to take him to the authorities, he gave me a name. You are not going to like this, Darcy. He said it was Peter Smith, your under gardener, and a man he didn't know. He said that it seemed like the other man was in charge."

Mr Darcy put his head in his hands, the pressure overwhelming him for a moment. "How am I going to explain this to Lizzie?" he moaned. "She will be devastated when I dismiss Lucy and Peter's father from my service."

"She will understand. You will tell her now about the letters, won't you?"

"I think I will have to. It seems unlikely that this man has more than one person in my employ working for him. She should be safe."

At that moment, Thomas entered the room with a curt knock, a grave look on his face. "A letter was just discovered in the dining room, Sir. It was like before, no messenger, and nobody saw anybody except the downstairs maids, myself and Mrs Reynolds enter or exit the room. I am sorry, Sir."

"Thomas, bring Peter Smith to my study, as quickly as you can." Darcy spoke, before dismissing his trusted manservant.

Mr Darcy opened the letter as Thomas retreated. He glanced at it briefly, and then handed it disgustedly to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

_Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley,_

_I am aware that you have uncovered one of my spies within your household. You are an intelligent man, Sir, so I know that you will continue to heed my warning. Trust me on this, I will be watching you and your lovely wife. You must be asking yourself what I want from you, Mr Darcy, and the time will come where I will get money from you so that I may rid myself of my problems and start over. However, know that I do not do this for money, Sir, I do it for revenge! And I will take from you your most valued possession and finish this once and for all. You have not much longer to wait until you will wish for a quick end to your life._

The Colonel looked grim when he had finished reading the letter. "You cannot tell Elizabeth now, Darcy... finally I agree with you on that one point. Instead, you will have to have her guarded closely, and you must make sure that you, yourself, are accompanied at all times, lest this man tries to kill you."

Mr Darcy felt utterly defeated. "A moment ago I was relishing telling Lizzie that I have merely been playing a part, and begging her to forgive me. Instead, now I find that my hopes are shattered. Perhaps I should send her away?"

"I do not think that would be wise. At least here we can watch her closely. Elizabeth has no idea of the danger that she is in, and we couldn't trust anyone else to guard her. I will contact my friend, Nothram. He can shadow her, without Elizabeth knowing a thing about it."

* * *

_As usual, please review! They are much appreciated. _


	12. Chapter 12

_Thanks for those who voted in my poll. So a quick warning that this chapter contains sexual content – I bet many of you are jumping for joy! Anyway, since I was sooooo nice and wrote this awesome chapter, I hope that I will get a heck of a lot of reviews. ;) Thanks for reading._

**Chapter 12**

Mr Darcy watched as the night around him became darker. He was bone tired, his mind and body aching from his four day journey that had taken it's toll on him. He knew that he should take shelter for the night and continue his journey back to Pemberley on the morrow, not least because his horse needed a rest, and his staff did not expect him back. It was only ten miles to Pemberley now, at a good pace, he would be able to arrive just before Thomas locked up the house for the night.

After a trying week, all Darcy wanted, was to find Elizabeth waiting for him. He could imagine the scene, and lost himself in the dream that was not to be. He saw her now, sitting at the window of her bedchamber, watching for him to arrive, and when he did, throwing her shawl around her shoulders to hasten down stairs to meet him. She smelled of apples as she threw her bare arms around him, laughing exultantly and whispering that she was glad that he was home. In his dream, all of his fatigued lifted as soon as he saw her, as soon as she pressed her enthusiastic lips to his in invitation.

Mr Darcy heaved a sigh of frustration as he tried to put Elizabeth out of mind – though why he tried, he did not know. Elizabeth was his life and occupied most of his waking moments. He attempted to gather his thoughts and place into order the information that he had so far been able to glean from various sources.

The under gardener, Peter, had not proved to be helpful, the potential fear of what Mr Darcy would do to him, far underweighted by the fear of what the blackmailer would do. Mr Darcy had even offered to let him keep his house and employment if he would divulge the identity of the rogue who was trying to destroy Mr Darcy. All to no avail. Both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam agreed that there was someone else amongst his household staff who was in league with the man, and when they had confronted Peter with that, the man had not been able to hide his reaction. All Mr Darcy could be sure of, was that this villain was serious in his threats, and that Peter was scared of him.

"_If you will divulge the name and whereabouts of this man... I will be lenient, Peter. He threatens everything I hold dear." Mr Darcy spoke calmly, knowing that losing his temper would not help his cause._

"_You don't understand, Sir! I cannot tell you who he is. I... he..." The man stammered, fear in his eyes._

"_Has he threatened your family, Peter? If he has I can keep them safe from harm. But I must know who he is before I can stop him. Do you want to see Mrs Darcy hurt by him? She has been nothing but kind to your children, how can you condemn her to this?" Darcy ground out, his temper flaring. He stood close to the man, raising himself to his full height, intimidating and demanding._

"_I... I'm sorry, Sir. But if you cannot protect your own wife, then how can I trust you to protect my family? I hope that Mrs Darcy does not get hurt by this..."_

"_I cannot abide this Fitzwilliam," Darcy bellowed, striding angrily over to the wall where he tried to calm himself. He listened as Colonel Fitzwilliam took over the questioning, also getting nowhere – a few small crumbs gathered by what the man did and did not say._

"_You are hereby dismissed from my service, Smith. I expect you to leave my property by midday tomorrow, and I never want to hear your name again." _

Mr Darcy felt his head pounding as he went over the scene again and again in his mind. Peter Smith had left the room, begging for his family not to be turned out. Darcy thought about Peter and Lucy, who would now be homeless and poor due to the follies of their father. He had commissioned Colonel Fitzwilliam to find Lucy and Peter's mother and offer her an alternative. At least in that, Elizabeth could not be angry. The children and their mother would have a roof over their heads, so long as Peter Smith did not set foot on Pemberley grounds again.

* * *

The stupor had finally lifted. Elizabeth, having gone days in a state of depression, now felt herself fill with a red-hot anger. She paced her room, dressed only in her thin nightgown, trying to make sense of the recent behaviour of her husband. How she wished that Mr Darcy was here now, so that she could find him and demand an explanation. How dare he go away for days with no explanation and no hint of his return. How dare he fill her with happiness and make her care for him above anybody else in her life. How dare he make her ache for him, a crumb of attention, a smile, a touch, a kind word. And how dare he barely speak to her for weeks after promising to love and honour her for the rest of his life.

Yes, Elizabeth was infuriated like she had never been before. How could he do this to her? She tried to rationalise his behaviour, but found that she could not, because all she had been doing for the past few weeks was making excuses for him. She could make excuses no more. He was callous and cold-hearted, and treated Elizabeth like a mere possession. The thought crept into her like poison, a thought which had been on the verge of her mind for days, but one which she had not wanted to acknowledge. Mr Darcy was bored with her – having wooed her, and amused himself with her for a while – he had discovered that the prize was not worth the effort. Elizabeth prayed that this could not be true. He would not do that to her.

And as suddenly as her anger had risen, Elizabeth found it deflating, until all she could feel was dread in the very pit of her stomach. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. No, Mr Darcy was the best man she had ever known. There was a good reason for his distance, and it had nothing to do with his feelings for her having altered in any way.

And from nowhere, Elizabeth felt a deep disappointment in herself for thinking badly of her husband, for actually for a moment believing that he could be so cruel, that he could be like Mr Wickham and every other cad who had ever mistreated a woman. At that moment, she needed desperately to be close to him, and instinctively padded over to the door adjoining their chambers. Having gained access, Elizabeth drank in the masculinity of the room, the smell of him surrounding her. She lay down on his bed, knowing that she would be safe from discovery as Mr Darcy was not expected home for at least another day. She breathed in deeply as she let his scent engulf her senses, and imagined that Mr Darcy was here beside her.

* * *

When Mr Darcy finally arrived at Pemberley, his mind was exhausted from his recollections, having spent two long hours attempting to forget Elizabeth and puzzle out the threat that hung over his head. The servants were all aflutter when he arrived unannounced, Mrs Reynolds fussing over him as if he was still a boy. Darcy wanted nothing more than to go to his bedchamber and fall into his own bed, there to sleep until this extreme fatigue had vanished. He escaped to his rooms almost as soon as he entered the house, and having dismissed his manservant, he threw off his shirt as soon as he closed the door to his bedchamber.

He jumped when he heard a sound in his room, and hurriedly searched the room with his eyes until he found its source. And what he saw made his heart stop.

When he saw the beautiful form of a scarcely clothed Elizabeth sleeping atop his bedcovers, he thought that he must be dreaming. As if in a dream he drifted over to stand beside her to examine her lovely face, tranquil in sleep. His entire being craved her – to touch her, kiss her and be near her. His heart drummed against his chest as he viewed his wife. Her mass of thick black curls fanned out on the pillows beneath her, and contrasted perfectly with creamy skin and rosy cheeks. His yearning only increased when he noticed that Elizabeth's nightgown was tangled beneath her, to display naked legs to the middle of her thighs. Creamy thighs that he could envision wrapped around him. Darcy knew, even as he allowed the thought to take root, that he should chastise himself for it, but he was unable to at this moment. And her shoulders gleaned in the lamplight, soft and begging for his touch.

Darcy sighed as his hand stroked the softness of Elizabeth's cheek, trailing of its own volition to her rosy lips, which were parted slightly. Then he was lost as Elizabeth breathed his name softly in sleep, pleasure in her tone as if she was dreaming of him. "Fitzwilliam... how I wished that you would come..." The words were clear, even though spoken in sleep, and Darcy felt his heart leap with joy.

Her eyes were still closed, and without thought for consequences, Darcy knelt on the floor beside the bed, his hands tenderly tracing the loveliness of his wife's body, that which he had denied himself for too long. "Oh Elizabeth, you know not how I have been tormented." He ground out the words, almost inaudible in his passion, as his body reacted to seeing her thus, waiting for him and dreaming of him in his bed. _Just one kiss_, he told himself, as he bent down to trace her jaw-line with gentle kisses. He would somehow control himself, even though every thought and every emotion begged him to see this through to its natural conclusion.

All thoughts of restraint shattered as soon as he tasted the unique flavour of Elizabeth's skin, and in that moment Mr Darcy knew that he had to have more. He needed Elizabeth in that moment, like he needed air to breathe. He moved his lips atop hers, at first gentle, and then when she began to tentatively respond, mayhap in a state between sleeping and waking, his lips demanded more.

It was torture to wait until Elizabeth came into full consciousness, as Darcy's lips moved slowly and gently, moving between her lips, and then tracing her jaw-line to her ear. He knew when she was fully alert, her gasp signalling her surprise. "Fitzwilliam..." she breathed. "What..."

He cut her off. "Elizabeth... don't speak..." His mouth found her earlobe and gently sucked on it. "Just feel." Elizabeth's eyes were wide with passion, glazed and dreamy following her sweet awakening from her dream in which her husband was doing exactly this.

"Oh..." Her lips parted, and her neck rolled backwards, as Darcy moved to kiss her neckline, his mouth open and wet as he trailed it downwards. Then he was back, kissing her on the lips, demanding a passionate response, and deepening the kiss when it came. Elizabeth's slender hands came around him, pulling Darcy atop her, revelling in the feel of his muscular back beneath her fingertips.

Darcy found himself more uninhibited with Elizabeth than he had ever been before. He had been afraid of scaring his new wife, but now she seemed to delight in the total abandonment of control as much as he did. But as he felt himself spiralling into an even greater loss of control, fear that he would hurt her or scare her with his passion, caused Darcy to pull himself abruptly away from Elizabeth, his body launching backwards off the bed.

Elizabeth came to a sitting position, her knees bent, the hem of her nightgown arranged haphazardly around her hips, her posture one of abandonment. They were both breathless as they stared at each other across the room, their pupils dilated, and lips parted. Mr Darcy let his thoughts briefly linger on the fact that the way she sat now, was the most sensuous thing that he had ever seen. He wished that he could have her painted like this, a painting to preserve the complete artlessness and beauty of her passion. A painting for his eyes only.

"Fitzwilliam..." Elizabeth breathed, when she could find the words, through the haze of passion that had engulfed them both. "What's wrong?" She held out both of her hands to him, in an irresistible invitation to finish what he had started.

Mr Darcy came to sit next to her on the bed, his hands surrounding hers. "I am sorry, my love. I did not want to stop just now, only I was frightened that I would hurt you in my loss of control."

Elizabeth smiled serenely, her warm eyes searching his, her trembling hands moving up to take his face between them. "You would never hurt me, Fitzwilliam. What was happening a moment ago, was far from frightening. In fact, it was so remarkable... that I never wanted it to stop." Elizabeth felt her cheeks heat in a deep blush as she spoke the words. She prayed that Mr Darcy would not think her too forward, embarrassment causing her to turn away from him, her back now facing his chest. She wondered if she would ever lose the shyness that seemed to overcome her when she was in bed with Mr Darcy.

Mr Darcy swallowed, her words sending new bolts of heat through him. He had a view of her perfect back, one sleeve of her nightgown falling down around the top of her arm, her long hair pulled over her shoulder so that her neck was completely bare. Never had he wanted her more. His hands moved to trace her shoulder, and his lips found her skin. Once again, they were both caught in a web of passion, Darcy's lips trailing up to the nape of her neck, where he paid homage to her. His hands came around to caress her hips, her stomach, and finally her breasts, which by now were yearning for his touch. And all the while, Elizabeth found herself lost in passion, her neck leaning backwards into his shoulder, her body pushing gently into his hands.

When she could take it no more, Elizabeth turned, and for a long moment, eyes met and held, full of passion and promise. All embarrassment gone, Elizabeth found herself wanting to touch the skin of his muscular chest, but instead leaned towards Darcy, placing her lips to his chest, and kissing the sweat-sheened skin that she found there. When Darcy groaned in pleasure, Elizabeth smiled against him, and continued to trail kisses along his chest and neck. Of their own volition, Mr Darcy found his hands gently gripping Elizabeth's head, as she continued her ministrations. And when he could take it no more, he pulled her away from him and pushed her none-too-gently down onto the bed, removing the remainder of their clothing, before pressing his naked body atop her.

"How you have tormented me, my Lizzie..." he spoke unevenly, as he led his beloved Elizabeth beyond the highest peak of pleasure and slowly back down to earth.

* * *

Elizabeth slept, snuggled warmly in the arms of Mr Darcy.

* * *

_As usual, please review. Much appreciated._


	13. Chapter 13

_Enjoy the new chapter. Please make sure you review after you read the chapter as I love reviews and it gives me inspiration to continue._

**Chapter 13**

Elizabeth woke at dawn to a feeling of intense satisfaction and well-being. She kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, revelling in the memories of last night with Mr Darcy. She found herself smiling, a slow upturning of her mouth which lit her entire face with bliss. She found herself stretching her fatigued muscles, her entire body tingling in places that she was previously unaware of. She opened her eyes and turned to her husband... who was casually missing from his place beside her.

Suddenly, doubts filled Elizabeth, as her mind raced wondering if the whole experience was a dream. Then she sat up, and knew that she hadn't imagined it, if the aches in her body were any indication. She looked around her bedchamber, searching for some sign of Mr Darcy, until with a sinking feeling she realised that last night she had been in her husband's bed, and not her own.

Elizabeth refused to despair, after all, last night was the most wonderful night of her life. Mr Darcy had taken her to new heights of pleasure, such which she had never even imagined could exist. She blushed deeply, as Elizabeth's maid assisted her to dress for the day, choosing a new silk gown in sunny yellow. She had not worn this dress yet, as it seemed too lovely for the day time, but today Elizabeth wanted to look her best, to give him no doubt that this was all for him. After last night, Elizabeth was sure that Mr Darcy still loved her, for he could not pretend such feelings as they had shared last night.

"Is Mr Darcy out this morning?" Elizabeth asked the downstairs maid as she made her way into breakfast.

"No Ma'am. He is in his study."

"Thank you, Rachel." Elizabeth smiled to herself as she ate her breakfast slowly, excitement and nervousness swirling in her heart as she tried to plan out how to approach him.

* * *

"Lady Catherine De Bourgh," Mrs Reynolds announced the arrival of the unwelcome visitor to Mr Darcy's study. Mr Darcy did not attempt to conceal his irritation as his aunt swept into the room, arranging herself in the best chair without a word of greeting.

A moment ago, Mr Darcy had been lost in gratifying memories of waking to find his remarkable Elizabeth wrapped securely in his arms this morning, her enticing backside pressed against his most sensitive area. He had been recalling the way her black curls fell in a curtain over her shoulder so that her neck was presented in a most delicious fashion. He almost moaned as he relived the moment when Elizabeth in sleep had breathed his name and turned to rest her head on his chest, her naked body closer than any man could tolerate. And he relished the feel of her sleeping in his arms as he carried her through the door that connected their chambers and deposited her gently into her own bed.

He looked at his aunt, the regal figure, dressed as usual in nothing but the best fashion in the best fabric, expensive jewels covering her throat and body. Her manner disgusted Mr Darcy, and he could not help but wonder at how much his Elizabeth had changed him. He watched as Lady Catherine sat in stony and haughty silence, her nose turned up, her features long sour from years of repressing any spark of joy in life. He found himself smiling as he imagined Elizabeth, walking through the mud, her boots and skirts knee deep in it, and her simple muslin dresses that had mattered little when he was falling in love with her. He could hear her laughter in his mind, and knew without a doubt, that he wouldn't give up his socially imperfect wife, for thousands of perfect social debutants.

"Care to share the joke with me, Fitzwilliam?" Lady Catherine spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. Mr Darcy sat down opposite his aunt, the smile wiped from his face by the unpleasant reminder of her voice.

"Not particularly, Lady Catherine. However, since it seems you require me to ask, I would be dearly interested to know what event has caused you to grace Pemberley with your presence. I understood that you had cast off any association with me, on the happy event of my marriage."

"Happy event, you declare?" Lady Catherine's eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "I had heard differently."

"I can assure you, Aunt that I have no notion of what you are implying." Mr Darcy spoke impatiently to this woman who had shunned Elizabeth and refused to attend her own nephew's wedding.

Lady Catherine stood, straightening to her full height. "Mr Darcy, there is no need to uphold any pretentions with me, I am, after all your aunt, the blood relation of your late mother, and her dearest confidante. I am aware, as is most of society, that your marriage is not a happy one, and I come to warn you that you would do well to be discreet when you take up with a mistress. We do not want the family name dishonoured by public scandal..."

Mr Darcy found himself enraged at the words of Lady Catherine, even though his logical mind knew that this was a positive step in his cause. If the news that his marriage was unhappy was as far-reaching as Hunsford, then the rogue who was threatening Elizabeth would be guaranteed to have heard. Still, his anger bristled hotly at the implication that Mr Darcy could wrong his wife by taking a mistress.

"Lady Catherine, you know nothing about my marriage, and I will thank you not to speculate." He spoke the words calmly, his anger brimming below the surface. His senses tuned into the sounds of the house beyond the walls of his study, and he realised that he could use this situation in his favour. "Perhaps it did not turn out as I had expected, however that is in no manner, any of your business." He cringed as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, but knew that he spoke the truth, even if Lady Catherine would construe a different meaning. After all, if things had turned out as he expected, Elizabeth would be here with him now... or rather, he would be above stairs with her.

"Mr Darcy, you misunderstand my meaning in coming today. I am not callous enough to allow you to suffer in a marriage that you no longer desire. I wish that you had heeded me when I saw fit to caution you against the feminine wiles of those Bennett girls..."

"Lady Catherine... I am warning you..." Mr Darcy ground the words out in fury, his fists clenched into weapons of destruction in his lap.

"No... you must hear this. Elizabeth Bennett set out to trap you, and having succeeded and married you, you have come to the realisation that she was not worth it, and it is not uncommon to grow tired of one's wife."

"Lady Catherine, you go too far." Mr Darcy stood, pacing over to Lady Catherine with barely controlled rage. His cheeks burned, his heart pounded, his head was filled with wrath, as if it would explode. "You are NEVER to speak Elizabeth's name again and NEVER to set foot in my house again. I would not subject my wife to the sight or sound of your malicious nature. Elizabeth is ten times... a hundred times..." he amended, "the woman that you will ever be, and I will not have her name slandered by a jealous relation. Now... get out of my house before I see you thrown out!"

As the woman regally departed, with her head held high, Darcy's fist smashed down onto the heavy oak desk that he now stood behind, anguish in the groan that escaped him.

* * *

Elizabeth's hand was poised at the door to Mr Darcy's study ready to knock, when a sudden nervousness overcame her. What would she say to him, and how would he act? Elizabeth laughed silently at herself, chastising herself for her cowardice. Mr Darcy was her husband after all, and she was at liberty to say whatever she desired to him, especially after last night.

Just as she steeled herself to enter the room, Elizabeth heard voices coming from within, and when she realised who was on the other side of the door, she stood as if frozen. Elizabeth wanted to move away, her stomach churning at the thought that Lady Catherine De Bourgh was at Pemberley, the unpleasantness of their previous encounter and the subsequent refusal to attend their wedding preying heavily on her mind.

Just as Elizabeth impelled her feet to move, she heard her name spoken in poisoned tones by the woman within, and then, even if she had wanted to, Elizabeth didn't think she could have made herself move.

"_Mr Darcy, there is no need to uphold any pretentions with me, I am, after all your aunt, the blood relation of your late mother, and her dearest confidante. I am aware, as is most of society, that your marriage is not a happy one, and I come to warn you that you would do well to be discreet when you take up with a mistress. We do not want the family name dishonoured by public scandal..."_

"_Lady Catherine, you know nothing about my marriage, and I will thank you not to speculate. Perhaps it did not turn out as I had expected, however that is in no manner, any of your business."_

"_Mr Darcy, you misunderstand my meaning in coming today. I am not callous enough to allow you to suffer in a marriage that you no longer desire. I wish that you had heeded me when I saw fit to caution you against the feminine wiles of those Bennett girls..."_

For a moment Elizabeth could not believe what she was hearing, and she let out a silent cry for what she had heard. It was a wound that cut deep. She did not hear Mr Darcy's reply as it was too muffled, and when she heard the next remark, Elizabeth could bear it no longer and practically ran out of the house, no thought or care for anything but removing herself from the house, the last words of Lady Catherine resounding in her head.

"_Elizabeth Bennett set out to trap you, and having succeeded and married you, you have come to the realisation that she was not worth it, and it is not uncommon to grow tired of one's wife."_

Elizabeth ran until she could run no further. She found herself in a small wood, close to some worker cottages. She sat against a large tree, caring nought for her new dress, wanting only to spend some time in solitude with her thoughts.

She wanted to cry and curse and think bad thoughts of Mr Darcy, if only to make her feel better, but Elizabeth had been there before. She had judged him before she had taken the time to find out the true story. She had grown in maturity since she had come to know Mr Darcy, and no longer wanted her prejudices to lead her to premature conclusions.

However, the words tormented her, and Elizabeth knew that there was a ring of truth to what Lady Catherine had said. _I am aware, as is most of society, that your marriage is not a happy one. _It stung deeply that her marriage was talked of in a negative way, especially considering that Elizabeth had married for nothing else but love, as she had always sworn she would. Weeks ago, she had been worried that they would be talked of in scandal, her fear that she would not be able to stay away from him, or him from her, as decency demanded. Tears pricked her eyes, as Elizabeth wished that this was all she had to concern herself with.

"_Elizabeth Bennett set out to trap you, and having succeeded and married you, you have come to the realisation that she was not worth it, and it is not uncommon to grow tired of one's wife." _Elizabeth knew that Lady Catherine's callous comments stemmed from nothing but her own need to believe that Mr Darcy had not chosen to shun her own daughter, instead having been trapped by an age-old feminine trick, but what she had said about Elizabeth not being worth the effort to her husband cut deep. It was only what she had previously thought herself, and it did nothing but reinforce that belief. Mr Darcy had certainly been acting as if he no longer cared for her... with the exception of last night. Elizabeth knew that last night could be explained away easily enough to support her theory, men being men, but it was harder to explain away the long weeks of distance between her and Mr Darcy.

The tears came in earnest now, as Elizabeth let the confirming words come back into her mind, spoken by him, aloofness in his tone. "_Perhaps it did not turn out as I had expected." _Elizabeth let the words wash over her as her misery engulfed her. She did not know what to do now but there was no point in being rash. She would have to discuss things with Mr Darcy.

The observer felt a burning need to whistle as he saw Elizabeth Darcy in tears. All was not well in the Darcy household, and now the plans for vengeance could take on the root of his problem. Mr Darcy did not love his wife, she was merely a possession to be won. The observer knew that he shouldn't be surprised, Darcy had always been one to take what he wanted, the consequences be damned. He retreated softly so that he wouldn't be heard, a pre-arranged meeting demanding his attention. The observer would miss watching Elizabeth Darcy, but now, he had more pressing enemies to attend to.

* * *

The observer spoke confidently, assured that his information was correct and true.

"I have been watching them for days. He does not love her, has merely thrown her out like a worn boot." He insisted. "Until last week I had two of his staff members watching their every move, and one now that one of them was stupid enough to get caught. Trust me, he has not come near her in weeks, hardly speaks a civil word to her."

"No matter what you believe, I insist that you persevere with our previous plan. Let's just say that I have had insider information that Mr Darcy shared a bed with his wife last night..."

"But surely... that could just be..." The observer spoke, angry that his plans were being foiled once again. "He's a man, he has a willing woman in his bed, I wouldn't turn down the opportunity to have her, either..."

"Enough! I do not want to discuss your displeasing appetites for unsuspecting women. We stick to the original plan. I trust that you do not need me to go over it again?"

The observer grumbled as the meeting ended. Mr Darcy would have to wait. "Elizabeth, here I come", he spoke out loud, allowing the benefits of the original plan to turn over in his mind. Then, when he had done with her, he would get his chance to cause Mr Darcy more pain than he could even imagine.

* * *

"Lizzie, is that you? Why are you sad?" Two pairs of hands tugged at Elizabeth's sleeves, and when she looked up through her tears, Elizabeth saw two pairs of blue eyes staring at her.

"Lucy, Peter... it is good to see you!" she exclaimed joyfully, a smile lighting her face. She pulled the two of them into her arms for a much-needed hug. "How I have missed seeing you."

"Why are you sad?" Peter asked solemnly.

"Oh, it's nothing you need to worry yourselves about. Besides I am much happier now that I have seen your gorgeous faces."

"It's just..." Peter spoke seriously, worming his way out of Elizabeth's embrace to stand before her, clasping her hand. Lucy remained sitting in her lap, cuddling closer to the mistress of Pemberley. "Well, Lucy and me are running away. If you are running away too... maybe we can all run away together."

Elizabeth smiled through renewed tears, believing that the children had had an argument with their mother and father and would need to be coaxed out of their plan. "And, why may I ask, would two such lucky children want to run away from home?"

"Well, the master dis... dis... di... missed Papa," the young boy said gravely.

"Dismissed?" Elizabeth corrected questioningly.

"Yep, dis... missed. That means he had to leave."

Elizabeth's head was reeling in shock. Mr Darcy had dismissed Peter Smith? She told the boy to continue with his story.

"He told Papa to go away and never come back, and he is sending Mama away to work in town. Lucy and me miss Papa, and we don' wanna not see him, so we decided that we would run away and come back for Mama when we find him."

"I'll tell you what? I'll take you home to Mama, and if I promise to come and play with you every day, will you promise me that you will not run away?"

Having the children's assurance that they would not run away, Elizabeth allowed her thoughts to process.

Elizabeth's heart pounded. Why would Mr Darcy dismiss the children's father? What could he have done that was so bad that he would break up a family, and force their mother to work in town? Who would look after Lucy and Peter? Was this her fault, somehow? Elizabeth could no longer bear it, after the revelations of the day, she could stay silent no longer.

If Mr Darcy could give no satisfactory explanation for his behaviour, Elizabeth would have to conclude that the change that he had undergone between his first and second proposal to her, was nothing more than an elaborate farce so that a man, used to always getting his way, could have what he wanted. She would have to conclude that he was as arrogant and disdainful with those beneath him as she had thought.

_As usual, please review. Much appreciated. I am coming up to 100 reviews for the fic and would love to reach at least 110 by the time I post chapter 14._

_In the next chapter: Elizabeth confronts Mr Darcy. _


	14. Chapter 14

_Thanks for the many reviews for the previous chapter – I really wanted to continue writing, but was getting stuck on the next bit. I wanted it to be a great chapter so spent my time on it. I will do my best to update again quickly, but please please review – it makes the author happy! ;)_

**Chapter 14**

Mr Darcy was in his study still reeling from Lady Catherine's visit earlier. He cursed himself now for losing his temper and throwing his aunt out of his house. He could only pray that his 'spy' had not heard his angry defence of Elizabeth, as it would just reconfirm the belief that he valued her above anything else, even his family. Mr Darcy groaned, his head resting against the cool window pane. He wanted to inform Colonel Fitzwilliam of the visit, however had been unable to find him anywhere for the past three hours. Mr Darcy was terrified that he had ruined all of his efforts to distance himself from Elizabeth. He had already blundered twice in his plan, the first was in making love to Elizabeth last night, and the second was in defending her so forcefully this morning. Mr Darcy knew not how he could bear it any longer.

He did not register the sound of an angry Elizabeth storming through the house until she entered his office.

* * *

The wind blew the leaves from the trees, the clouds darkened overhead, and low rumbles of thunder sounded. Elizabeth did not notice, as she strode angrily towards the house, determined to confront Mr Darcy as soon as possible. Her footsteps resonated through the empty halls of Pemberley as she made her way, unchallenged, to his study.

Without pausing to knock, Elizabeth opened the door, and positioned herself in front of Mr Darcy's desk, hands on her hips and temper flaming. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" She demanded, her cheeks streaked with slashes of crimson. Her hands shook with a fury that she had never experienced. She didn't even notice that Mr Darcy stood with his head resting on the window pane, a picture of despondency.

Mr Darcy was weary, the scene with Lady Catherine this morning had taken the last reserves of his energy, and now to have Elizabeth facing him, looking like a vengeful goddess, threatened his peace of mind even further. He did not want to have to do this right now. When he spoke, it was half with exasperation and half with resignation. "Pray, please tell me what you are speaking of?"

"Are you telling me that you are so unconcerned by what you have done that you don't know?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "Or could it be that there are so many misdeeds that you cannot deduce of which one I am speaking?" She spoke hotly, ignoring the look of utter shock on Mr Darcy's face.

When he had recovered, Mr Darcy spoke. "Elizabeth, I do not have time for guessing games. If you do not inform me as to what you are referring, and cease insulting me, I _will _conclude this interview immediately." His anger was increasing by the moment. All he had attempted to do was protect the woman he loved to his own pain and suffering, and here she was challenging him with a passionate rage.

"You cannot just walk away from me, Sir, when what I say is not to your liking."

"I can, and I will, Madam!" Mr Darcy strode around to the front of his desk where Elizabeth stood, towering over her in his own increasingly volatility.

"I suppose I should not be surprised," Elizabeth countered, not flinching away from the intimidating stance of her husband. "After all, running away is what you seem to do best." The words were designed to sting and sting they did.

However, Mr Darcy refused to show that Elizabeth had wounded him with the blow. He raised his eyebrow in sardonic query, inviting yet challenging her to continue. Elizabeth stumbled on the next words. "You couldn't escape fast enough this morning, could you?" She questioned, pausing before continuing in a rush of words. "Or at the ball when you practically ran from me in the garden, or after the accident at Lambton. It seems to me that at every sign of trouble or confrontation, you..."

Mr Darcy cut her off with angry retaliation. "Is that what this is all about then?" He sneered, eyes cold and dark. "Has your pride been injured by my refusal to act as your lap dog? Am I not paying enough attention to pamper your vanity?" As soon as he spoke the words, Mr Darcy regretted them. Elizabeth was speechless, stunned into hurt by the cruel words, and for a moment could not find the words to respond. Mr Darcy did not know what had possessed him to say what he had. Elizabeth was the least vain woman he knew, and the words were untrue. He made an apologetic move towards his wife, her eyes brimming with hurt that she was unable to completely hide. "Elizabeth... I didn't mean..." But as he would have touched her, Elizabeth stepped back as if burned.

"You are mistaken, Sir," she spoke in a dangerous whisper, her eyes pricking with unshed tears. "That was not what I was speaking of when I entered the room, although your behaviour towards me has been abominable. I was referring to your callous dismissal of Lucy and Peter's father. How can you live with yourself after breaking up a family so cruelly? How can such actions be justified?" Elizabeth demanded, warming to her theme.

"You, Madam, have no idea what you are speaking of. Can you really trust me so little that you would think I would do so without good reason?" His manner had quietened, as he pleaded with Elizabeth to understand.

"Explain to me your reasons, then?" Elizabeth refused to relent. This time, she was going to get answers, no matter what she had to do.

"I cannot. You will have to trust me." Mr Darcy spoke.

"How am I supposed to trust the man who has shut me out for weeks?" Elizabeth reasoned, her voice softening as she relived the hurt that he had inflicted. "How can I believe what you say when you promised me on our wedding trip that we would never sleep apart, and again and again that you loved and adored me?"

Mr Darcy stared at his wife, moved beyond restraint. He bit his tongue to stop from declaring his undying devotion to Elizabeth where they stood. "Have you nothing to say, Sir?" Elizabeth demanded, when he did not respond.

Mr Darcy forced himself to say the words, whilst promising himself that this would all be over soon. "What would you have me say?" He shrugged with seeming nonchalance.

Elizabeth retreated in shock. "You have answered me with your cold and unfeeling response. I don't believe that you ever loved me the way you said. I believe that you merely wanted to win me. That I was a challenge to you that you could not resist."

"You speak nonsense, Madam." Mr Darcy turned his back to Elizabeth so that she would not see the war that was raging within himself. This was all for the good.

"Nonsense..." Elizabeth's voice became shrill, and she winced to hear it. Softening, she continued her tirade. "I do not speak nonsense, and if I did, you would be vehemently denying it. Instead you stand there, cold and remote, refusing to look at me. You never changed, did you?" She whispered the final words, gulping as she held back the threatening tears. "You just pretended to change until you became bored of the challenge. You made me love you... rely on you... and then you discarded me as if I were nothing. Well, it serves me right for believing that you were a better man than the likes of Mr Wickham. For ever believing you were anything but the proud and arrogant man that I first took you for." Elizabeth walked to the door, pausing as she turned the door handle. Her parting words were muffled. " I hope that you are proud of yourself, Sir, for deceiving me so wholly, and that you may live with your decision for the rest of your lonely life." She slipped from the room quietly, vision blurred with unrestrained tears as she ran to her chamber.

Mr Darcy shook with passion. He could not move for long moments, while the merciless words resounded through his head and heart. His whole being ached, both for his beautiful, injured, Elizabeth, and for himself. He would never wish for anyone to think of him what she just revealed. But Mr Darcy knew somewhere deep within himself that she wouldn't be so distressed if she didn't love him. He knew that he hadn't lost her yet... but resolved to try to make it up with Elizabeth, before she could harden her heart towards him any further.

* * *

Her eyes burned from seemingly endless tears. When Mr Darcy entered Elizabeth's chamber, she sat in the window, her knees curled against her chest, her head against the window pane, her eyes vacant as she stared out into the dark night.

"Elizabeth..." Darcy spoke tentatively from the door, advancing to the bed but not beyond. He wanted to reach out for her, but as yet, did not know where he stood with his wife.

She did not look up, and gave hardly any indication that she had heard him. Her husky whisper was so soft that it could have been imagined. "Go away."

"Elizabeth... please, you misunderstood..." He spoke, advancing towards Elizabeth, so close that he could touch her.

"Will you give me your reasons for dismissing Peter Smith?" Elizabeth whispered.

"I wish I could tell you, Lizzie, I wish that I could make all this pain disappear. I promise that I will tell you as soon as I am at liberty to, please say you will wait?"

"I heard what you said to Lady Catherine." Elizabeth spoke tentitavely, and Darcy groaned inwardly with despair. "_Perhaps it did not turn out as I had expected! _Those were your words. You do not have to lie to me anymore, Sir. I know that you think me a disappointment, and I will stay out of your way from this moment on."

Darcy placed a hand on Elizabeth's soft hair, and stroked it, pleading with her to listen. "Listen to me... I did not mean..."

She jerked her head away. "I don't want you to touch me, Sir!" she spat. "Just forget it. I do not wish to know."

"Elizabeth... please?" Mr Darcy pleaded, his heart breaking for his wife.

"Leave me alone. I am tired." It was her last word.

* * *

_Elizabeth, my love,_

_You cannot imagine how broken I am at this moment. My heart truly aches for us, sweetheart. I believe that we both have an equal measure of pain this night – you, because you believe that I never truly loved you – and me, because you believe that I am a cruel and selfish man and will not forgive me._

_How I wish that I could come up to our chamber this moment, and sweep you into my arms, and kiss away all of the tears that you have shed over this. That I could tell you everything, my love, and calm all those fears you have. That I could cradle you in a warm embrace forever, and smell your familiar, enticing scent._

_Lizzie, I could not resist you last night when I came home and found you sleeping in my bed. And for that I sincerely apologise. For if I had not given in to my need for you, we may have been able to delay this confrontation for a few weeks longer – mayhap enough time for me to resolve this situation once and for all. When you came to me then, I would have explained everything – my reasons sound and solid. _

_What I said to Lady Catherine was unforgiveable, but I said it to convince anyone listening that I believed that I had made a mistake in marrying you. What I meant was that had things turned out the way I wanted, this separation would never have occurred, that you and I would have been together at that very moment. I hope you will believe that. I threw Lady Catherine out of the house when she insulted you too far, Lizzie, I suppose you did not hear that part of the conversation._

_Just know my Lizzie, that I will always adore you. I pray that soon you can read this letter, as you can read my previous letters. You will then know that I rarely think of anything else, save you. To have you believe that I am what you first thought me, proud and arrogant, selfish and cold, is a torment for me, even though I am guilty of some of these things. I am not perfect, Lizzie, but towards you I could never be truly cold. You move me to feelings of the deepest regard, and I know that you always will. _

_Love forever,_

_Fitzwilliam_

_Please don't kill me! __Please review!_

_In the next chapter: The observer reappears! _


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks for the reviews for the previous chapter – here is the next chapter. I hope you will enjoy it. I will probably have to wait until next weekend to update as my life is very hectic right now, but if I can I will do my best to write some during the week._

**Chapter 15**

"_I cannot wait to take off these shoes," Elizabeth laughed, as she felt the activity of the day catch up with her. "I may need your support to get back to our accommodations." She linked her arm through Mr Darcy's, smiling up at him._

"_I believe that it is __**you**__ who should be supporting __**me**__, Madam. After all, you were the one who came up with this hare-brained scheme to climb to the top of the hill, and walk for hours without even stopping for a break." He lifted one eyebrow in sardonic amusement, and playfully took Elizabeth's arm from his, replacing his across her shoulder. _

"_How unchivalrous of you, husband! I cannot walk, and yet you expect me to carry your weight as well," Elizabeth admonished quirkily. She smiled sweetly as Mr Darcy replaced her arm so that it was tucked into his. He covered her hand with his own. She continued. "Besides, I couldn't resist. It was __**so**__ beautiful and I was __**so**__ happy and I just wanted to dance and shout and sing and laugh," she spoke exuberantly, the joy in her voice a balm to all who could hear her. Elizabeth danced away from him and twirled around, her skirt following behind her, her bonnet falling to her shoulders._

_Mr Darcy smiled adoringly at Elizabeth. She was so beautiful right now, carefree and sweet in her happiness. Her cheeks were flushed with crimson, and her eyes and lips smiled radiantly. "You must not be in much pain, I think," Mr Darcy spoke with enjoyment. "Or you could not be making such a scene in public as you are at this moment."_

"_I am not making a scene, Sir..." Elizabeth laughed, skipping to his side and firmly tucking her arm into his. "We are newly married, there is nothing improper in a wife enjoying herself."_

"_Is there anything improper in __**this**__?" Mr Darcy swept Elizabeth off the ground so that she was laying in his arms, her hands instinctively linking around his neck._

"_Mr Darcy!" she exclaimed, slightly shocked that her exceedingly proper husband would do such a thing in the middle of the street. "Put me down!" She glanced around quickly to see if anyone was watching._

"_It would be ungallant of me, would it not, to leave my poor, aching wife to walk up all those stairs, when she is feeling so tired and injured?" Mr Darcy smiled, revelling in the feeling of his wife in his arms._

"_It would indeed!" Elizabeth replied cheekily. "From now on, I give you leave to be as gallant as you please."_

Elizabeth woke late feeling like she had not slept at all. Her eyes stung from crying, her heart pounding from the bittersweet memory that she had relived in her dream. How could a man who had been so sweet and attentive, be capable of the things that she had accused him of? How could she imagine that he was merely pretending to change? Yet, Elizabeth would not believe that Mr Darcy loved her – she just couldn't put herself through that again.

No, Elizabeth was determined to see this out. She would henceforth be cold yet polite in her husband's presence, and avoid him as much as possible. There was no other choice, lest her heart be shattered into millions of tiny pieces.

She dressed quickly and slipped out of the house, unnoticed by anyone, and especially unnoticed by Colonel Fitzwilliam who was waiting to shadow her.

* * *

"Lizzie..." Peter spoke, the informality of the address back now that they were playing together. "May I climb some trees while you and Lucy are drawing?"

"Of course you may, Peter. Make sure you stay close by." Elizabeth smiled as she watched the boy scarper up into the nearest tree. She turned her attention back to Lucy, who was happily sketching the lake through the trees. She had been trying to forget about her problems but now that Lucy was happily drawing, and Peter was entertaining himself in the trees, she found that her thoughts returned to Mr Darcy. "Where did we go wrong, Fitzwilliam?" she sighed softly, as she sat down by the nearest tree, brooding. She knew that no matter what happened, and whatever harsh words passed between them, her love for him would always remain. Yet she didn't think she would ever be able to forgive.

Without warning, four men descended upon them, the largest one placing his hand over Elizabeth's mouth, while another yanked her roughly to her feet. Elizabeth noticed with panic that one of them had Lucy in his arms, the little girl putting up a fight to rival anyone. "What do you want?" Elizabeth demanded, as soon as the hand was removed from her mouth.

"Mmm, he's done got himself a handsome one, ain't he?" The large man spoke, peering into Elizabeth's face.

Elizabeth turned her head away. "Let us go, we haven't done anything to you." She held a breath and recoiled as the man's dirty face pressed closer, his teeth rotted and offensive, his hands covered in grime as they came up to touch her face. "Aye, a pretty one... maybe when the master's gone and done with you, he'll give you to me." The man leered, his eyes straying to Elizabeth's heaving bosom.

"Let go of me..." she screamed, her slim body struggling in vain against the strength of the three men that held her captive. "Someone must be watching... someone will see what you are doing." Elizabeth spoke, hoping that Peter would stay in his hiding place until they were gone and then get help. "Someone will tell my husband, Mr Darcy, what you have done." Tears moved down her cheeks as the men holding her tied her hands around her back.

"There ain't nobody watchin' lady. All's we gotta do is deliver you to our master and we will get paid."

"Someone will run to Pemberley and tell him, then you will be found and killed for what you have done." Elizabeth spat out the words, her anger increasing as the men leered at her.

Her head snapped back forcefully as a large hand cracked across her cheek, and Elizabeth could taste blood in her mouth. She glared at the man, stunned into silence by the blow. "That'll teach you to know when to shut your mouth." The man jeered, picking Elizabeth up like a sack of potatoes and throwing her over his shoulder.

"Bring the young'un too." He shouted behind as he trudged away, the prize held tightly against him.

* * *

"_Come here," Mr Darcy bade softly after he had removed his own shoes and watched Elizabeth remove her coat and bonnet. _

"_Why?" Elizabeth asked suspiciously as she took the seat on the bed that Mr Darcy had directed her to._

"_You'll soon find out." Mr Darcy knelt at Elizabeth's feet and removed her shoes and socks. "Do they still hurt, Lizzie?" he asked tenderly as he examined the high colour._

"_Not right now..." Elizabeth breathed softly. She wondered how such a simple touch could cause her so much pleasure._

_Mr Darcy raised his eyebrow as he understood her meaning. He smiled as he came up to sit on the bed so that he was facing her, taking Elizabeth's feet with him. He kneaded the soft flesh, watching as Elizabeth closed her eyes and reclined further backwards onto the bed. "How does that feel?" He asked huskily as he moved up to the delicate ankles._

"_Wonderful," Elizabeth smiled, and opened one eye to see the triumphant look on Mr Darcy's face. "I will have to ensure that I always walk so far, if I am to be treated like this." Suddenly, she retracted her foot and skipped off the bed, playfully moving about the room. "Shall we do it again tomorrow?" she laughed._

_Mr Darcy shook his head forcefully as he jumped off the bed just as suddenly. "Now it's my turn..." he laughed, and pursued his wife around the room until he had her cornered. Elizabeth laughed, her back against the wall, as Darcy's arms came one on either side of her. Then she threw her arms around him._

Mr Darcy was interrupted from enticing memories by the entry of Colonel Fitzwilliam, his heart sinking as he saw the apologetic look on his cousin's face.

* * *

Peter had seen the whole thing. He didn't want to leave Elizabeth and Lucy in the hands of those four big men, but being an intelligent lad, Peter knew that he would be much more useful if he did not get caught, so that he could get help.

Once the coast was clear, Peter jumped down from the tree, and ran as fast as he could towards Pemberley.

* * *

"What are you telling me, Fitzwilliam?" Mr Darcy was furious with his cousin, the only time that he could ever remember being so. "How could both you and Nothram have lost her?"

"Nothram left me to watch her while he went into town. She didn't want me following her Darcy, somehow she must have slipped past me."

"Did you look for her?" Mr Darcy asked impatiently, his worry growing with every moment.

"Of course I looked for her. She was not in any of the gardens or walks around Pemberley. I am afraid that I do not know where she is, Darcy."

At that moment, the conversation was interrupted with the door bursting open, and a young boy yelling urgently.

"They took them. Lizzie and Lucy are gone."

* * *

It had been hours. Elizabeth sat in a cold, dark room, shivering as the implication of what had happened dawned on her. Lucy was cradled closely in her arms, each drawing comfort from the others presence. "Why did they take us, Lizzie?" Lucy said, tears running down her cheeks as she stroked the blackening bruise on Elizabeth's cheek.

Elizabeth winced slightly as her lip stung and her cheek throbbed. She wished she could answer Lucy's question, but she didn't even know herself. "It's okay, Sweetheart, Mr Darcy will find us." She soothed, her hand stroking the young girl's back in comfort. She tried to convince herself that he would.

A commotion above caught her attention, as the guards outside her door stood to attention. "The master has finally arrived." Elizabeth shivered as she waited for whatever was to come next.

When the master entered the locked room, Elizabeth's eyes opened in horror and disbelief.

"YOU!" she spoke, her words failing her.

"Yes, that's right Elizabeth!" The man spoke jeeringly. "Not who you expected, am I?"

_Please review in the hopes that it will make me write faster! ;)_


	16. Chapter 16

_So here is the much begged for newest chapter of my story. Never fear, resolution is just around the corner. Hope you all enjoy. Please leave comments._

**Chapter 16**

Mr Darcy felt positively ill. A faintness borne of overwhelming shock suddenly plagued him. It felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, while his face had turned ashen white. Anyone now watching could not mistake the absolute agony that he was feeling at his helplessness.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening, the three players frozen. Young Peter and Colonel Fitzwilliam stood facing Mr Darcy with differing expressions of compassion. The only sound that could be heard was the echo of Mr Darcy's only words. "Elizabeth... no..." The tone with which it was said, filled with utter despair.

Then the adrenaline set in. Suddenly, all Mr Darcy could feel was his heart pounding, until he feared it would beat right out of his chest, the dull throbs seemingly echoing around the room. His hands shook with fear, and his mind repeated a continuous mantra of words_... Elizabeth... no... please... no... my Lizzie_.

Aloud, he spoke, his voice shaken, his conviction momentarily quashed by his anguish. "Fitzwilliam, what are we to do?"

Suddenly Colonel Fitzwilliam was barking out orders, in a display of authority that Mr Darcy had never had occasion to see. It was as if the Colonel had merely been waiting for his cousin to give him the signal, so perfectly did he seem to have instructions at hand. The children's banished father, Peter Smith, was being sought out, in the hope that he could shed some light on the kidnapper's plans, and an army of searchers were being gathered to comb the area for any sign of Lucy and Elizabeth.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, still feeling guilty about his mistake in losing track of Elizabeth, was determined to find her. He didn't think that he would ever be able to look Darcy in the eye again if something happened to Elizabeth and they were too late to save her.

Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and young Peter then went out to lead the search for Elizabeth and Lucy.

* * *

"Miss Bennet," the observer spoke, his voice threaded with a sort of lazy amusement as he looked at the shocked face of the woman that he had admired since the day he met her. "Looking lovely as always." He stepped closer to where Elizabeth stood defiantly, her hands on her hips, close enough so that he could touch her. The observer placed a slimy hand on her cheek, ignoring the fact that she closed her eyes in disgust, and tilted her face to the sliver of light that came in at the barred window. "Although, a touch marred I see."

"Don't touch me!" Elizabeth attempted to wrench her face out of his grasp; however, the observer used his other hand to hold her in place, forcing her face to the side so that he was able to examine the damage .

"Now, now, Miss Bennet, is that any way to greet an old friend?" the observer laughed, finally releasing her.

Elizabeth glared at him, and stepped back so that she was not so close to him. "In case you had forgotten, I am no longer Miss Bennet and _you_ would do well to realise that _when_ my husband finds me, he _will _kill _you_." Elizabeth spat the words viciously at him.

"Oh yes, your _husband_! Don't delude yourself, my dear Elizabeth... Mr Darcy would _never_ kill me, not even for you! Never fear, I shall still be alive at the end of this," he sneered.

Elizabeth looked over at where Lucy lay sleeping on her coat. The girl had been so tired after her barrage of weeping earlier, that she had fallen asleep where she lay in Elizabeth's arms. Elizabeth was glad that she was still asleep, so that she didn't have to witness this.

The observer was examining his nails carelessly, his posture one of feigned boredom. When he spoke, it was with a nonchalance that he did not feel. "So tell me... how _did_ you end up married to Darcy anyway? I understood that you always hated him." The observer came close to Elizabeth again, examining her reaction, trapping her between his body and the wall, not close enough to touch, but just close enough to make Elizabeth's skin crawl.

"Get away from me." She spoke in panic, noticing for the first time a look in his eyes that warned her that this man could be dangerous. How had she missed it before? She wondered now. How could she have been so blind to the splashes of madness in the eyes of this man whom she had once thought harmless?

He continued as if Elizabeth had not spoken. "Of course, I can understand why he wanted _you_! But, I really thought that _you_ would be more discerning in your tastes, Elizabeth. What does _he_ have that is of interest to a passionate beauty such as yourself? Could it be all for his riches?" the observer sneered cruelly.

"You have no idea of what you are speaking," Elizabeth spat, trying to edge away from him.

"That may be so, my dear, but it definitely was not because of his sparkling personality. I know that you could not have such poor judgment as that."

"The only poor judgement that I am guilty of is that I ever trusted _you!_ Elizabeth retaliated, her temper flaring.

Lucy woke and noticed the scene before her, eying the observer suspiciously. "Don't touch Lizzie, you nasty man!" The little girl rushed at him with tiny fists raised, and her face screwed up into a ball of rage. The observer pushed her away, as casually as if she were a tiny bug to be crushed. Lucy hit the floor with a soft thud.

"How dare you!" Elizabeth screamed. "Lucy," she said, "sweetheart, stay over there and close your eyes tightly. Everything will be well."

The observer laughed maliciously, before continuing as if the interruption had never occurred. "I just wonder how you ever found the stomach to share his bed." Elizabeth's skin crawled, and her nerves pricked with a fear of the true capabilities of this man. She sighed with relief when a loud clattering interrupted them, and three of the men that had captured her entered the room.

"Harvey, I thought I told you that I would not be interrupted," the observer spoke harshly. The large man eyed the observer with defiance.

"Sir, you also told us to guard the wench at all times," Harvey replied.

"Yes, well..." The observer faltered, knowing that these thugs loyalty did not lie with him. They stayed only for the promise of a large sum of gold for following his instructions. He must try to exert his authority. "I told you that the woman must not be harmed. Yet I see that one of you..." he stared accusingly at Harvey, "has maimed her porcelain skin." He took Elizabeth's chin roughly and forced her cheek to the light again to demonstrate his point.

"It were an accident... master," Harvey made a half-hearted apology, shrugging his shoulders carelessly and glancing briefly at his two friends who were sniggering beside him. It was a joke between the four accomplices that the observer was so completely unaware of his unimportance to anyone. His pride was flattered by being called 'Master' and the men found that they could talk themselves out of any number of rough spots by tossing that title at him.

As Harvey expected, the observer gave a satisfied smile, his ego stroked just enough for him to let them alone with the prisoners. "Just do not use unreasonable force, understand?" he instructed. "Do only what you must to keep the woman here." The observer strolled from the room, glancing back at Elizabeth as if to warn her that their earlier conversation was not over.

* * *

Mr Darcy paced his study, as he and Colonel Fitzwilliam poured over maps of Pemberley. They had searched every inch of the woods surrounding the great estate, and asked every tenant that they could find if they had seen Elizabeth or Lucy. Yet nobody had admitted to seeing them. Mr Darcy was convinced that they were being held somewhere within the grounds of the large estate, and although they had searched all of the likely places, they had not yet found her.

"Fitzwilliam, it has been twelve hours since she went missing. Anything could have happened by now. Where is she?" Darcy wrung his hands together, desperation on every feature, his face drawn and haggard with worry.

"We will find her, Darcy. Once the children's father has been found, I know that he will help us."

* * *

_My Dearest, Loveliest, Elizabeth,_

_I do not know if you will ever get a chance to read this letter, but I write it in the hope that when I find you, you will know exactly how I feel. I will never forget the first time that I was able to say out loud those words that I wrote in my greeting, my Lizzie. I must confess that in my thoughts and dreams I had referred to you as this long before that fateful day. The day that you made me the happiest man on the face of the earth. For long moments, and I believe, for weeks afterwards, I could not believe that you had actually agreed to be my wife. And you were never more lovely than that day as we walked down the lane. I recall how desperately I wanted to kiss you that day, my love, to really convince myself that you would be mine – that you felt for me even half the intensity of what I felt for you._

_Where are you, Sweetheart? I am going mad with not knowing what has happened to you. My mind is plagued with thoughts of unspeakable horrors. I am tortured by the knowledge that you and Lucy are alone out there, unprotected, and waiting for me to rescue you._

_Know this, Lizzie. I would move heaven and earth for you. If I could, I would trade places with you in a moment, and if it came to a choice, I would give up my life for you, so that you could live. You were meant to live and love and dance and sing._

_It terrifies me that we may be separated for ever when the last words that we spoke to each other were in anger – that you believed what you did of me. I will never forgive myself if you are hurt in any way, and I know that I could not live without you._

_Colonel Fitzwilliam and I are doing everything we can to find you. I promise to find you. I just pray that you will be able to forgive me when I do._

_Love forever,_

_Your Fitzwilliam_

_As usual please add comments!_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The cold was bitter, the stone laden walls of the old room doing nothing to keep Elizabeth warm. Her slim body shivered in her muslin dress, her coat long removed to wrap up the now sleeping Lucy. Elizabeth lifted her hands and saw them shaking with the cold. How she would survive this night, Elizabeth did not know. She wondered if he was searching for her. She wondered if he was close to finding her.

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought that she would have to remain with these men, especially the one they called Harvey. She gingerly touched her cheek and winced as she felt the lump that had formed on the cheekbone. She was worried that Harvey would not follow his leader's instructions. She had sensed that the other men did not respect him and would defy him at any opportunity. Then she recalled the smarmy leer that Harvey had given her after the leader had left the room.

"Fitzwilliam," she whispered into the darkness, warm tears sliding down her cheeks at the thought of the man she loved. "Please find me..." She willed him to hear her, as she tucked her hands under the wrapped Lucy to try to keep herself from freezing.

Mr Darcy heard it again, her beloved voice calling to him. He stopped his horse abruptly, seemingly unaware that Colonel Fitzwilliam ground to a halt also.

"Darcy, what is it?" The Colonel asked loudly, bringing his horse up beside his cousins.

"She is calling me, Fitzwilliam," Darcy spoke absently, trying to capture the moment when he had heard her voice in his imagination once again. "She begged me to find her." He looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, willing him to understand.

"We will find them, Darcy – and we shall bring them back to Pemberley safe and sound. Are you sure there is nowhere else that you can think where she could be held captive?" The colonel prodded.

After almost eighteen hours, they had searched every inch of Pemberley, the cottages and the surrounding buildings. However, there had been no trace of Elizabeth or Lucy. The only things they had found were the drawing materials that were left in the woods when they had been taken.

"Not within the boundaries of Pemberley itself – I believe we have covered every inch of it – even the abandoned buildings that nobody is aware of. We are at the border now," Mr Darcy pointed to the edge of a road, not a hundred yards away. "There is a public inn at the end of that road; I am going to continue to it and question the landlord."

"Darcy, you need to rest. You haven't slept or eaten in more than twenty-four hours; you will be of no use to Elizabeth if you do not take care." Colonel Fitzwilliam was concerned about his cousin. He was pale and drawn, his eyes bruised from lack of sleep, and a haunted yet determined air cloaked him.

"I cannot rest Fitzwilliam. I cannot stop until she is safe with me. Every moment lost puts her and the child in more danger." Mr Darcy urged his horse into a gallop, closely followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam.

_Elizabeth stood at the window an__d looked out at the beautiful view that was in front of her eyes. Mr Darcy came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, smiling as she rested her body back against his. "Did I not tell you that there was a stunning view from your chamber, Lizzie?"_

_Elizabeth laughed and turned in his arms, linking hers loosely around his neck. "I think you mean, __**our**__ room, Sir. Did you not tell me that you intended to always share my chamber? Think what it would mean for you to go back on your word." _

"_What would it mean, my love?" Mr Darcy asked wryly, eyebrows raised in question._

"_Just that... I would never forgive you..." Elizabeth laughed happily as she skipped out of his arms, only to be roughly pulled back into them._

"_I think you owe me a kiss for giving you the best room in the house," he rasped, the longing in his eyes undisguised as he viewed his gorgeous wife._

"_Just one kiss?" Elizabeth pouted prettily, moving backwards as her husband attempted to find her lips. Being thus thwarted, Mr Darcy placed his lips on Elizabeth's neck instead and tasted the soft skin there. Elizabeth sighed as the sensations overtook her, heat building to fire which warmed her entire being. "Fitzwilliam..." she whispered, complete abandon filling her, as she felt warm hands at her breasts. "We shouldn't!" One last attempt at reason. "It's still daylight."_

_Mr Darcy suddenly ceased his ministrations and put Elizabeth away from him, noticing the disappointment on her face when he did. "Do you really want me to stop, Elizabeth?" he asked mockingly as she swayed unwillingly toward him, her eyes and body begging for more of his touch. "We could wait until dark if you..."_

_Her hands came up to grasp the lapels of Darcy's jacket, and she pulled him towards her. "Be quiet and kiss me," Elizabeth commanded, as her open lips descended on his._

_It was much later when Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had taken a walk by the lake, and stood in each other's arms, gazing down at the water. "So, you never answered my question Lizzie..." Mr Darcy murmured as he brushed his lips over Elizabeth's face. _

"_Mmmm, what question?" Elizabeth answered dreamily, her body humming from their recent love-making._

"_Do you approve of the view?" He rested his chin on Elizabeth's shoulder._

_Elizabeth smiled, as she recalled the first time that Mr Darcy had asked her if she approved of Pemberley. "I think there are few who would not approve, Mr Darcy," she mocked. "Especially if one has the occasion to remember a day when a certain gentleman took a swim in that lake." Elizabeth blushed as she recalled how, despite herself, the sight of Mr Darcy that day affected her. His confident stride towards her, his white shirt plastered to his body. _

"_Yes, well... that day, I was tortured by you, Lizzie. I was determined to forget you and move on with my life." Mr Darcy threaded his hand through Elizabeth's and started walking._

"_You were?" Elizabeth frowned._

"_Of course. You had rejected me in the most humiliating way..." Mr Darcy laughed at the memory. "By sketching the faults that I did not recognise I had and did not want to face, and by refusing to be my wife... all at once."_

"_Oh Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth frowned, placing her slim hand on the back of his neck and stroking the curls of hair that sat there. "I am sorry."_

_Mr Darcy took Elizabeth's hand and turned it so that he could place a tender kiss there. "You have nothing to be sorry for. At any rate, when I came out of the lake, there you were – my goddess divine, my shining light, my passionate Lizzie – and I KNEW that I would do everything in my power to win you."_

_They walked for a long time, talking and laughing and loving each other. When it grew cold, Mr Darcy draped his own coat around his wife and held her close to his body, allowing her to place her cold hands underneath his waistcoat to keep them warm against his skin. _

"_I am thankful that Mr & Mrs Gardiner brought me to Pemberley, Fitzwilliam." Elizabeth spoke softly as they watched the sun set over the lush green fields and crystal clear lake. "For if they had not, I would never have known such happiness... or loved any man so entirely. I believe that you never needed to change, my love, just that you needed to open yourself up to let people see the strong and compassionate man that you are." Elizabeth leaned her face into his neck and rested there, inhaling the uniquely masculine scent of her beloved husband._

Elizabeth's heart overflowed with warmth, the memory one that she would always cherish. That night, Darcy had made love with her so passionately and lovingly, that Elizabeth had felt like her heart would burst with adoration. Afterwards, he had gazed down at her reverently, as if he was afraid that she was merely a figment of his imagination. And they had talked long into the night about their entwined futures, before falling to sleep clasped tightly in each other's arms.

She remembered the warmth of her love for him, and knew that no matter what occurred, she would always adore her Darcy. And as the fear of never seeing him again overwhelmed Elizabeth, the hopelessness of her situation at the forefront of her mind, she decided that if she did make it out of here alive, she would stay by Mr Darcy's side. Because even if he could never love her, she would still be able to see his beloved face and hear his voice every day for the rest of her life. That had to be better than living a life without him.

Lucy stirred in Elizabeth's arms, and opened her eyes. "Have they come yet?" she asked hopefully, trusting blue eyes on Elizabeth. "Is the bad man gone, Lizzie?"

"Not yet, Sweetheart." Elizabeth soothed, her hands stroking the girls hair. "But I want you to promise me something, all right?" Lucy nodded. "You know that when you make a promise, you have to truly mean it, and you cannot break it, right?" Lucy nodded solemnly.

"You must promise me that no matter what happens when those men come back, you will sit in the corner over there, with your eyes tightly closed. Imagine that you are playing with Peter or swimming in the lake or practicing your needlework, but you must not look, and you must not talk." Elizabeth smiled at Lucy, hoping that the girl would understand. "Do you know what you have to promise?" she asked.

"I promise to sit in the corner and squeeze my eyes shut and not move and not talk." Lucy threw her small arms around Elizabeth's neck in a tight hug. "I love you, Lizzie."

Tears filled Elizabeth's brown eyes as she huskily replied. "I love you too, Sweetheart. Be a brave girl for me, all right?"

Nobody at the inn admitted to having seen anything out of the ordinary, and Mr Darcy resolved to believe them. Nevertheless, he made it clear that he would pay for any information.

Colonel Fitzwilliam persuaded him to sit down for a hasty meal, and although eating was the last concern on his mind, Darcy forced it down, knowing that he had to stay strong for Elizabeth and Lucy. They were rewarded for their efforts when an old man accosted them as they left the inn.

"I heard you've bin lookin' for information," the old man spoke, flashing his rotting teeth at the gentlemen. His breath reeked of spirits, his eyes bloodshot, and he could hardly stand straight on the darkened road. "I trust you is payin' well?"

Mr Darcy swallowed his disgust at the man's greed, keeping calm as he replied. "Now that all depends on the value of the information that we are given. What have you heard?"

"I heard tha you've bin lookin' for the dark-haired wench, and a child." Colonel Fitzwilliam had to intervene as Mr Darcy stepped close to the man, drawing himself up to his full, intimidating height, and taking the man's face in his crushing grip.

"You will refrain from referring to my_ wife_ in such a disrespectful manner," he raged, satisfied when the man's eyes widened with fear.

"I is sorry, Sir... I wasn't told," the man stammered.

"If you have seen Mrs Darcy, please just tell us what you know," Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted impatiently. "Time is of the essence."

"I can't be sure, but yesterday mornin' I was walkin' home, mindin' me own business, when I hears a scuffle, an' saw your wife and girl, with three or four big fellows. Must'a bin just before noon."

"How came you to be here at that time of the morning?" the colonel asked. "And may I enquire as to whether you were intoxicated at the time?"

"I might 'ave fallen asleep in the bushes over there," the man answered sheepishly. "But I knows what I seen, an' that wen..." He stopped as he glanced at the menacing look on Mr Darcy's face. "I mean, tha lady was not there of 'er own will."

"Why did you not report what you saw? Why did you wait until now to tell anyone?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, noting Mr Darcy's clenched jaw and tightened fists. He knew that his cousin was only holding onto his control by a thread. But there was hope now, where there was none previously. At least they had some idea of where Elizabeth and Lucy had been and had a hope of tracing her current whereabouts.

"I... I would 'ave done..." the old man began nervously, but was cut off by Mr Darcy's impatient interruption.

"We cannot waste more time here, Fitzwilliam. Pay the man and let us search the wood."

The observer smirked as he fingered the coins that now resided in the palm of his hand.

"You will get the rest when this business is concluded to my satisfaction," his companion spoke.

"I have the woman. What else is there to do but lure Darcy to the hide out and kill him?" The observer chuckled at the thought of finally having his revenge on the man he hated.

"_Kill him_?" his companion jeered. "You are not to _kill_ Mr Darcy. I merely want you to ensure that the woman is out of the way. I have my own plans for that gentleman."

The observer spluttered, the true meaning of the words sinking in. "You promised that I could have my revenge on Darcy. I will have it."

"Listen to me! You work for me. Do you understand me? What better revenge could you want than to take away what he truly cherishes? If you kill the woman, Mr Darcy will never recover. Is that not better than ending it all quickly for him?"

The observer was livid, his sullen voice muttering his response, "I cannot kill her."

"I do not care what you do, ruin her or kill her, just so long as she is no longer fit to be mistress of Pemberley." The observer was dismissed with the flick of a hand. "If you fail me... I will ensure that you are ruined." It was the parting warning.

The observer shook with fury. He would no longer obey these orders, even though it would be difficult to extract himself from the web that the mastermind had spun around him. He was promised a chance to get his revenge on Darcy, and revenge he would get. He would make Elizabeth watch while he killed her husband, and set her free, and then he would take everything that should have been his, including the lovely Miss Bennet. He refused to think of her as Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy, when he knew that if he had just been patient, she could have been his. He should never have rushed into matrimony with a convenient replacement – if only he had waited, he could have convinced Elizabeth that she would have been happy with him, and he would be sharing herbed at this very moment. The observer tried to ignore the ache in his groin as he imagined a delectable Elizabeth – willing, lustful— smiling at him in unmistakable invitation. She would be his, he swore.

The observer took a note out of his pocket and smiled as he anticipated the moment when Mr Darcy would open it.

_Hope you enjoy my latest update. Please don't hate me... I swear it will all get better... at some point! Meanwhile, I am trying to be kind by putting in romantic flashbacks ;) Reviews please!_


	18. Chapter 18

_**ANGST warning! **Hope you like my new chapter. I know the angst warning sounds bad but I thought that I'd better say it so that you guys can't complain. ;) Thanks for all the feedback - I do understand your frustrations with my continued cliffhangers, but I promise that it will all be worth it when we come to the end. Please review._

**Chapter 18**

"She was here, Fitzwilliam. She really was here." Darcy looked up at Colonel Fitzwilliam from his crouched position on the ground.

"Are you sure that it is hers?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, glancing down at the white handkerchief that his cousin clutched in his hand, as if it were a piece of Elizabeth herself.

"Indeed, it is hers," Darcy confirmed, gently fingering the embroidered initials. _ED... Elizabeth Darcy_... he smiled tenderly as he imagined her slim fingers lovingly sewing her newly acquired initials into the soft linen.

"_Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy... Mrs Elizabeth Darcy..." Elizabeth laughed happily, twisting the wedding ring on her finger, the carriage taking them towards Pemberley. "I can hardly believe that it is so."_

"_I have to own that I have a certain fondness for your former name, my darling!" Mr Darcy smiled, leaning down to speak close to her ear. "However, it gives me great satisfaction to be able to refer to you as my wife, and my lover... perhaps one day, the mother of my children!"_

"_Oh Fitzwilliam, do you think it could be so? Do you think we will have lots of children?" Elizabeth's eyes shone with delight at the thought. She shifted closer to Mr Darcy and lay her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly when his arm naturally came around her and hugged her tightly. She took his other hand and made a slow, reverent exploration of his hand, his wrist and the strength of his masculine forearm. _

"_Of course – we shall have hundreds of children – all of them exactly like their gorgeous mother." Mr Darcy played gently with the escaped curls of Elizabeth's brown hair._

"_Hundreds? Oh my, we shall be busy, Sir! Perhaps we ought to stop at ten?" she suggested. "Just as long as I have boy who favours his father, I shall not mind how many more we have." _

"_Why would you want that, my Lizzie? They should all look exactly like you, for then they would be the most beautiful creatures in the world!" Elizabeth laughed at his insistence and blushed at his flattery. _

"_I think you show a biased partiality, Sir! Perhaps we should just hope that they are all healthy and delightful, with the best parts of each of us?" Elizabeth reached up and nuzzled her husband's cheek with her lips, glowing with happiness._

"_You take my breath away, Mrs Darcy!" He turned his face to hers for a long, deep, soulful kiss._

"Darcy, Darcy..." Darcy became aware of Fitzwilliam calling his name, and he blinked absently for a moment. "Where were you, man? You were in another place altogether, I believe."

"Yes," Darcy sighed. "I was just remembering."

"May I see the handkerchief?" Darcy reluctantly relinquished the item to his cousin for his inspection, and looked around the area for any further signs of Elizabeth, Lucy, or their captors. But they found nothing more.

"Darcy," the Colonel spoke cautiously, holding the handkerchief out for his cousin to examine. "Look at this."

"Is that...?" Darcy was unable to finish the question, his eyes widening with fear, the bottom dropping out of his stomach, as he took in what it all meant.

"Blood," Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed. "I think so, yes! However, it is only a small amount; it may be nothing that we need to worry about," he hastened to reassure his cousin.

Darcy groaned, his body shaking as he let the fear overwhelm him for a moment. "Damn. What if she is hurt, Fitzwilliam? What if those bastards are hurting her as we speak? What will become of Elizabeth and the little one if we do not find them in time?"

"We WILL find them!" The colonel was attempting to convince himself as well as his cousin. The alternative was too devastating to consider. "And whatever happens, Elizabeth will get through this, cousin! You, of all people, know how strong she is."

Darcy smiled wistfully although his eyes reflected his pain. "That she is. My strong, beautiful wife! If anyone can get through this, it is Lizzie!"

"Remember what I told you!" Elizabeth spoke urgently to Lucy as she heard determined footsteps in the passageway outside their room. "Not a word, Sweetheart." She placed her finger on her lips and smiled encouragingly at Lucy.

She could smell the stench of unwashed male before they even entered the room, and wished herself anywhere but here at this moment in time. She glanced over at Lucy, who sat facing the wall, her fingers in her ears, and her eyes screwed shut. At another time, Elizabeth would have laughed. The little girl made such a sweet picture of innocence in that posture.

"Still alive in there?" the derisive voice of Harvey greeted her through the door, and Elizabeth jumped slightly when a loud bang sounded, most likely from his large boot as he kicked the wall. The door cracked open, and Elizabeth found herself face to face with Harvey's cruel eyes and mocking smirk. He was flanked by the two other men who had assisted in their capture yesterday. Elizabeth paused in her thought – _was it yesterday_? She was quickly losing track of the time. "Silence from tha _princess_?" he mocked as Elizabeth eyed him warily. "Wat's tha matter, _Princess_? Can't bring y'self to converse with tha peasants?"

"Actually, I do not usually make it a habit of speaking to anyone who has kidnapped me, hit me, and locked me in a cold room with no food or water. Would you expect more?" Elizabeth spoke haughtily, proud of herself for remaining so calm.

"'igh an' mighty now, ain't we?" Harvey came closer to Elizabeth, coming to stop behind her, taunting her in his best impression. "Ain't you curious to 'ear our plans for you?" He breathed his foul breath on the back of Elizabeth's neck, and she was unable to stop her skin from crawling at the sensation.

"All I want is some food and water for Lucy. And for you to leave us alone." Elizabeth cringed as a grimy hand slid down her face.

His breath came chillingly close to her ear as he replied, "We all wants wat we can't 'ave." His breath hitched as he looked down at Elizabeth's full breasts, while she stood frozen, her eyes tightly closed, willing him to leave her alone. In her mind, she heard her husband telling her to fight, and her heart flashed with fire.

"I might be able to help you... if you help me..." Harvey breathed. Elizabeth watched the faces of the two men at the door, distracted as they were by the sight of Harvey and Elizabeth, and glanced towards Lucy. Her innocent blue eyes stared in shock at the scene before her, tears brimming in her eyes as she looked at Lizzie. _I will fight, Fitzwilliam!_ The other two men were now in the room, leering at Elizabeth's body, and leaving the door unguarded. Seeing her chance, she beckoned to Lucy, who thankfully understood what she wanted, and crept quietly towards the door. As soon as she was in the path of the door, Elizabeth kicked backwards with all of her might, the heel of her shoe crashing into Harvey's shin. He let out a loud howl at the surprise attack. Elizabeth was fast, and in the few precious moments of confusion that followed, she had made towards the door, scooping Lucy into her arms on the way. They made it as far as the staircase, when Elizabeth heard fumbling footsteps behind her and the violent curses of the men.

Elizabeth's heart was pounding; she knew that they could not both escape. She set Lucy down, instructing her to run as far away as she could and hide until she could get help. She watched in admiration as Lucy's tiny legs carried her up the stairs and away, marvelling at how such a young girl could be so brave.

She whirled around as the two men caught up with her, with Harvey hobbling behind, cursing. "What are you standing there for? Go after the child," he bellowed at the two of them, as they tripped over each other to obey, pushing past Elizabeth as they went. _God speed, Sweetheart!_ Elizabeth prayed that Lucy would be safe.

"You... whore." Elizabeth stifled a scream as she felt Harvey's large hand wrench her arm towards him, almost pulling it out of its socket. He dragged her back into the room, throwing her inside with such force that Elizabeth hit the floor with a dull thud. He slammed the door behind them and came towards her, watching with disinterest as Elizabeth scurried back until she felt the wall behind her. "If you ever... you foolish..." Harvey sputtered, unable to form the words. "Beg me..." he screamed with rage. "Beg me not to 'urt you, whore!" Spittle flew everywhere, the man like a rabid dog, enraged at the woman who had attempted to elude him.

Elizabeth was determined to remain strong and refused to give the satisfaction of begging for anything from this evil man. Now that Lucy had escaped, Elizabeth no longer had to concern herself about the girl. She was safer outside this house and away from these men. Elizabeth had confidence that Lucy could easily find her way home, having explored this area with her brother for her entire life. "I will _never_ beg you for anything." She spoke quietly but with conviction.

She closed her eyes and covered her head with her hands as Harvey's leg drew back. She braced herself for the pain that she knew would come, and when the blow came, she groaned in agony, the sturdy boot landing in her delicate ribs.

She sensed, rather than heard the retreating footsteps of Harvey, as she clutched her ribs, moaning in pain such as she had never felt. Her eyes filled with tears that she had so far refused to shed, and she cried silently where she lay. When she heard the childish cries of Lucy, Elizabeth felt her heart freeze, and depression set in. She quashed her tears until Lucy had been locked into the room with her and struggled to look up as the young girl came and sat beside her. "I tried Lizzie, but they catched me. Sorry!"

Elizabeth attempted a smile through her tears. "Did … they hurt … you, darling?" she breathed the words through the pain.

"No, they was just mean." Lucy spoke obstinately. She sensed that Elizabeth was in pain, and she sat near her and put Elizabeth's head on her lap. She stroked Elizabeth's hair in a soothing gesture, as Elizabeth sobbed out her pain and despair.

"_Fitzwilliam... I knew that you would come." Suddenly the light in the room seemed dazzling. Elizabeth opened her eyes and stared into the loving brown eyes of her Darcy. The Darcy that she had loved, the Darcy who had loved her when they were first married._

"_Darling, I wish that I could have spared you this pain." Tears welled in those same eyes, as he reverently lifted her from the cold floor where she lay clutching her ribs. "What have they done to you?"_

"_Just tell me that you love me, and then take me home. I need you to be strong for me now; I can't be strong any more. It hurts too much." Elizabeth spoke almost incoherently, feverish in her pain._

"_I will be strong for you, my Lizzie! Sleep now, and when you wake, all will be well." _

Elizabeth opened her eyes to find herself in the same cold room, the same pain wracking her body as when she had closed her eyes to try to shut it all out. Lucy had fallen asleep with Elizabeth's head still in her lap, her beautiful golden curls resting on top of Elizabeth. "You promised me, Fitzwilliam..." Elizabeth spoke quietly. "Why have you not come for me? How can you leave me here?" The bitterness filled her heart as all of her doubts came flooding back in a sea of pain. Elizabeth felt as though she had been forsaken by all who were supposed to care for her. She knew deep down that she was being unfair, but at this moment, Elizabeth could not think rationally. _Would this pain ever cease?_

_Mr Darcy,_

_I told you that I would destroy what was most precious to you, and that I would destroy you in the process. I wonder how you feel now, Sir, being deprived of the thing you truly wanted. Now you know how it felt for me. And I will have everything that should have been mine – especially Elizabeth. _

_If you want to see her alive again, bring fifteen thousand pounds to the church at Lambton. I will meet you there, and when you give me the money, I will show you Elizabeth and give you the child. Fitting that the final show-down is set to occur in the place where I should be most protected. Then what I always coveted will be mine, assisted by your generosity and the acquisition of a beautiful mistress. _

_Come alone at midnight tomorrow. If I see that you are accompanied, Elizabeth will die. How does it feel Darcy, to be completely powerless?_

_**The great secret of power is never to will to do more than you can accomplish.**_

A blackness filled his heart, and froze it. Mr Darcy crushed the note in a powerful fist, his entire body shaking with rage. He had to find the villain, and when he found him, he would do everything in his power to kill him. The words referring to his beloved Elizabeth threatened to choke him – the blackguard wanted her in a way that no man was entitled – to reduce her to his mistress; to force her to share his bed – Darcy groaned in unreserved anguish at the thought of Elizabeth debased – of what she could be enduring at this moment.

He stood from his chair and began to pace, panic filling his soul at the hopelessness of the situation. The villain demanded money; Darcy would gladly give everything he owned to keep Elizabeth safe. But how could he wait until the appointed time? By midnight tomorrow, Elizabeth and Lucy would have been gone for sixty hours, and it did not appear that the villain would even release his wife when that time came.

Mr Darcy was uneasy. Something about the words in the blackguard's letter played on his mind, like a long-forgotten memory that was gnawing its way to the forefront. He searched his mind for what was bothering him, his head pounding with the effort of the hunt for the reference that seemed determined to elude him.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was in his cousin's library where he had finished questioning Peter Smith. The man had finally been located an hour ago. Mr Darcy strode into the room, thrusting the note into the colonel's hand and waited until he had read it to the end.

Peter addressed him, tears in his eyes as he held his young son in a crushing hug. "What can we do? How can we find them?" he spoke, his heart breaking for his part in the kidnapping of Pemberley's beloved mistress and his own darling child.

"I thought that you would be able to help us... did you not know of the man's plans?" Mr Darcy asked.

Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted. "Peter was being used by the man, Darcy! He believes that the one who hired him was acting on the instructions of someone else – the mastermind if you will. He did not know the man's name, only that he wore black and covered his face."

Mr Darcy looked sternly at his former employee, the note still niggling at the back of his mind. "Why should we believe what you say now? You betrayed me and my wife... and you have helped a madman kidnap your own daughter and an innocent woman? You mean to tell me that suddenly you have ceased lying to me?" he questioned.

Peter fell to his knees in front of Mr Darcy, his regret genuine. "I'm sorry for my part in this, Sir. He forced me to 'elp 'im. If I could make it up to you, I would. Please, 'elp me find my Lucy."

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, assisting the broken man to his feet.

"I believe I would, Colonel, Sir."

Mr Darcy was hit with a sudden surge of déjà vu as the quote resounded throughout his mind. _**The great secret of power is never to will to do more than you can accomplish. **_How could he not have seen it right away? How could he not have recognised it? A quote at the back of his mind; from a time long ago. His mind raced back to the place when he had first heard it – at Rosings Park.

His eyes flew towards his cousin's, as another memory assailed him. He sat down, his hands shaking, as he spoke. "I know who has taken her. I know who has my Lizzie!"

_Please review. Next chapter should be up at the end of the week._


	19. Chapter 19

Angst Alert!

_Hope you all enjoy. Not going to give anything away but would LOVE to hear your thoughts when you finish the chapter. Thanks to Gayle – my awesome BETA :)_

**Chapter 19**

The observer moved swiftly towards the empty estate, glancing around to ensure that there was nobody watching. This was the home that he had always promised himself to one day have. Now it was within his reach. All that remained was to fool Darcy into paying a ransom to keep Elizabeth alive, and then he would have him exactly where he wanted him. This time, he would be ready, and this time, Darcy would not get the better of him. The observer smiled with cruel pleasure as he imagined Darcy trying to figure out the identity of his wife's kidnapper. He had left a vague clue in his note, no longer caring whether or not Darcy knew who he was; his vanity was pampered by the idea of Darcy's knowing who would be responsible for his untimely demise, and who would claim the lovely Elizabeth after he was dead. He was not afraid that Darcy would discover his hide-out, for the Darcy he knew was always a haughty man, with no time for anyone but himself; he would not recall the fantasies of a boy.

The observer found himself humming as he entered the house, a skip in his step as he anticipated seeing and taunting the lovely Elizabeth once again.

* * *

Elizabeth woke from her pain-induced sleep to the sound of Lucy's childish voice singing a lullaby to her, while stroking her dark curls with soothing hands. She smiled, the pain slightly reduced from a few hours of rest. "Lucy, darling, have you been singing to me all this time?" Elizabeth reached for the girl's hand and kissed it affectionately.

"Not all the time, but sometimes. Mostly when you cried. Why were you crying, Lizzie?" she asked innocently. Elizabeth moved gingerly into a sitting position, clutching her ribs as she did.

"I was just sad sweetheart! I miss Mr Darcy and little Peter."

"I cried, too, Lizzie. I miss Peter and Mama and Papa. And my tummy 'urts. Does your tummy 'urt, too? Is that why you were crying?" Lucy rubbed her growling stomach.

Elizabeth chuckled, wincing when the movement caused a sharp pain to stab through her middle. She noticed that a bowl of water had been left beside them as they slept, and she assisted the child to drink small sips and then partook herself. "Yes, sweetheart, my tummy does hurt," she spoke comfortingly to Lucy. "But I think that when Mr Darcy and your papa find us, Mrs Reynolds will give us roast beef and potatoes and pudding. How does that sound?"

Elizabeth hugged Lucy to her as the child's eyes lit up at the thought of such a rich meal after so long without one. They sat like that for long moments, each comforted by the presence of the other during their captivity.

* * *

Elizabeth and Lucy were still in each other's arms when the observer came into the room. "Well, is this not touching?" he sneered, as Elizabeth's eyes flashed hatred at him.

"What do _you_ want?" her voice was scathing, her patience wearing thin of the situation that was fast becoming intolerable.

"I suddenly recalled that we had a conversation to finish." He came close to Elizabeth, crouching down to look on her pale face. He turned to Lucy, laughing cruelly at the wide eyes staring at him in fear. "Shoo..." He watched as the child scurried away to sit facing the wall.

"Now... where were we?" The observer pulled Elizabeth to her feet, and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out at the pain that the sudden movement caused. He did not notice, so preoccupied was he with his own evil agenda. "You are pale, Miss Bennet. Is the accommodation not to your liking?" He waved his hand around the cold void, mocking her by his very attitude.

"I told you not to call me Miss Bennet." Elizabeth snapped, life flashing back into her eyes as her anger surfaced. "My name is Mrs Darcy!"

"There, there. I am sure that there is no need for your belligerence, Elizabeth. You are not doing yourself any favours by speaking to me in such a way. You do realise that I control your future, do you not?" Elizabeth's eyes shot daggers at her captor. If looks could kill, he would surely be dead.

"No need, you say?" she spoke furiously. "You kidnap me and an innocent child and keep us in a dungeon that is not fit for even a dog. You neglect to give a woman or child food and only the smallest portion of water, yet you expect me to treat you with civility? You ask too much."

"Ah, Elizabeth," the observer crooned, moving around her like a predator circling his prey. "Now we come to what is really bothering you." He paused and ran a hand down the bare skin of Elizabeth's arm, ignoring her when she tore it away. "You feel neglected, do you not?"

Elizabeth refused to look at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear and pain in her eyes. She wished that her husband would come, that anyone would come to rescue them. "Not willing to answer me? Hmmm?" the observer questioned. "If you would like more comfortable quarters, my dear, all you have to do is consent to become my mistress." The observer stopped in front of the magnificent woman, his eyes fixed on the full breasts which were heaving with Elizabeth's rapid breathing. He imagined that she was tempted by his offer; he knew deep down that Elizabeth had preferred him - before he made the mistake of marrying another. He imagined that being as modest as ever, Elizabeth kept her eyes downcast so that he would not witness the desire that even now clouded her darkening eyes. The observer felt his lust grow as he allowed himself for a moment to imagine himself with the passionate Elizabeth... the final revenge on Darcy would come when he could taunt him with the knowledge that his wife willingly surrendered her body to his enemy.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was filled with disgust at the conduct of this man. She desperately wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, run as far away as she could, and have a long, cleansing bath; to forget the words, the looks, and the feel of his hand running down her arm. She wanted Darcy. Only then could she feel safe again.

"Do you agree to my proposition?" The observer breathed roughly, coming close to Elizabeth so that he could feel her body heat, what little of it there was after being held captive in a cold room.

"Never..." she spoke softly. She cringed when rough hands grasped her chin and forced her face up to look into cruel eyes.

"What did you say?" His tone was threatening.

"I said, NEVER!" Elizabeth shouted angrily. "I would NEVER agree to share your bed. You disgust me. Everything about you makes my skin crawl and my heart freeze. I would rather DIE than have you come near me."

The observer thrust Elizabeth away from him, taking his head in his hands as he tried to make sense of what she had said. _She could not have meant it_, he told himself. She just was angry still that he had resorted to kidnapping to get her away from Darcy. Now his delusions firmly took hold.

"You do not mean that, Elizabeth. I _know_ how passionate you are. You once looked on me with admiration. You once smiled at me and laughed with me and danced with me. You were elated when I preferred you, you cannot deny it. You were disappointed when I married the other; I know that you were. SHE said that you were; SHE told me that once you loved me; SHE gloated time and time again that she had been the one to secure me, when all the time you thought that it would be you." His words were garbled in his uncertainty.

"You deceived me, Sir. You led me to believe that you were the innocent in all of the circumstances that you related. You attempted to sport with my feelings, affiance yourself to numerous young girls and persuade them to disgrace themselves. You thought of nobody but yourself when you fooled my sister into believing that you loved her. You never wanted me, Mr Wickham. You only wanted what rightfully belonged to Mr Darcy - his money, his sister, and now, his wife. As for my sister - Lydia is as silly as she is vain... she wanted to believe that she had taken you from me; she wanted to believe that I envied her. Lydia is the fifth daughter of my parents, Mr Wickham... she has always felt inferior and competed for the attention of our parents, of any man with whom our family came into contact. But even though Lydia made an error of judgment and lacks sense, even SHE deserves more than marriage to an evil fiend such as you. How you could think that I would ever consent to..." Elizabeth stopped suddenly, her tirade silenced by the angry roar of her nemesis.

"Enough!" he bellowed, launching himself at her, so that Elizabeth found herself against the wall, his body pressing into hers and shaking with fury. "You LIE!" He took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm himself before delivering the final blow. "At any rate, Darcy will not want you if you are ruined or disfigured. I will spare you, IF you consent to be my mistress."

Elizabeth squared her jaw and looked directly into the eyes of Mr Wickham. "I know that you do not believe this, Mr Wickham, but I _love_ my husband, and I would never betray his love, not even to spare my own pain. He would move heaven and earth to rescue me, and he WILL find me. No matter how you harm me, he will still love me and cherish me. _Nothing_ you can do to me would change that. He is ten times... a hundred times the man that you will ever be."

Elizabeth heard the crack of his hand contacting her cheek as if it was in the distance, the motion of her face being forced to the side somehow familiar. She was numb, protected by the love that she had declared for her husband. Where the words had come from, Elizabeth did not know, but in that short moment, she believed that Mr Darcy would continue to love her through any eventuality. Later she would remember the recent conduct of her husband towards her, but right now, in this moment, Elizabeth believed in him. If she died in this room, she would die believing that she was truly loved.

Her already injured cheek throbbed as the blow registered in Elizabeth's mind. But the pain was nothing – especially compared to the pain of Harvey's cruel kick to her ribs.

Wickham stepped away from her, and looked at Elizabeth's trembling figure, the fear and pain which she was so unsuccessfully trying to hide. "I cannot promise to protect you from Harvey and the men if you do not agree to my proposition. Think on it carefully. I will see what you have to say after you have spent some time with them." The words sent terror to Elizabeth's very soul, knowing all too well what Harvey was capable of. _Would Darcy never come?_ Elizabeth was beginning to lose hope that she would escape from this dungeon alive... yet she knew that even death was preferable to the indecencies she would be made to suffer if Harvey had his way.

* * *

Charles Bingley watched his wife's face as she read the letter. He wished that he did not have to be the bearer of such bad news, the worst news that his new wife could possibly receive.

He frowned in concern as Jane made a valiant effort to stem the tide of tears that threatened to escape. "I know how concerned you were when Elizabeth stopped communicating with you, my darling. I was also surprised when Darcy did not answer two letters from me. I was so concerned that something was amiss at Pemberley that I was considering travelling there myself, but then I thought that it would be prudent to wait. I convinced myself that if something was wrong, we would have received news and resolved to think that perhaps Darcy and your sister were just enjoying married life too much to find the time to write."

"That would never happen, Charles!" Jane protested. "Lizzie would never stop writing to me just because she was enjoying herself."

"Hush, my love. I know that now." Mr Bingley took his wife's hand and kissed it gently, before continuing with his account. "You see Jane, I did not want to assume that the Darcy's were too busy to write, for fear that I was wrong and that they were in need of assistance, so I wrote to the colonel, Darcy's cousin, whom I know had been entrusted to manage the estate business while Darcy was in Bath. He wrote back informing me that there were some difficulties at Pemberley, but nothing that we need concern ourselves with, and that he and Darcy were confident that all was in hand." He sighed slowly.

"I should have gone there when I received that letter, Jane, for now he writes to say that Elizabeth has been kidnapped and that Darcy is beside himself. He urges me to come quickly to assist with the search, but I do not want to take you and subject you to that pain, love."

Jane smiled adoringly at her husband. "I have to go to Pemberley, Charles. I cannot forsake my sister in her time of need lest I have bad news of her. I will pray that she is safe, and that Mr Darcy can find her, and I will be there for Lizzie when she is rescued if she has need of me. Do not worry for me, Charles; I will be just as frantic awaiting news at Netherfield as I will be at Pemberley. How soon do you think we can arrive?"

* * *

"_Race you to the top of the hill." The young George Wickham called to his friend. _

_The two boys tore off up the hill, one tall, muscular and regal, and the other slighter and faster. Fitzwilliam Darcy had no hope of catching up with his friend, but laughed anyway, and attempted to beat him. As was their ritual, at the top of the hill Wickham rolled down it, becoming covered in grass and mud on the way. But this time Darcy hesitated, reminded by his father's recent warning regarding the correct behaviour of a gentleman. _

_Wickham picked himself up at the bottom and dusted himself off, waiting expectantly for his friend to join him. "Come on Darcy, what are you waiting for?" Wickham mocked as he watched his friend hesitate. "Forget about what your father said." _

"_**Fitzwilliam," his father had said just last night. "You cannot continue to gad about in the manner of a young boy. Someday, you will be the master of Pemberley, with all of the duties and responsibilities which this entails. You would do better spending your time by preparing yourself for your life ahead. My boy, George Wickham has been a good friend to you, and he is a good lad... but Wickham cannot understand your responsibilities."**_

_Darcy glanced down at his immaculate breeches and riding coat and decided that he could not disobey. If Darcy was to return home with soiled clothing, his father would be livid. He jogged down the hill, ignoring the look of disdain that briefly crossed Wickham's face._

"_You are no fun, Darcy!" Wickham whined at his friend. "Surely just because you are going to be the master of Pemberley, you do not have to turn into a dullard."_

"_Hush, Wickham. I merely do not wish for my father to be angry with me tonight. It is not as if I am off studying, is it?" He rolled his eyes, as they lounged together on the soft grass, the vista of a large estate beyond. _

"_One day, I will live there." Wickham sighed dreamily, boyish fantasies overtaking the lowly steward's son. "One day I shall earn my place in society, I shall marry a wealthy and beautiful heiress, and I shall purchase that estate."_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy eyed his friend warily. Being the son of a rich man and the heir to a fortune, he understood the ways of society better than did George Wickham. He knew that it would be unlikely that the boy would ever attain his aspired status, even with all of the help that his own father could give him._

"_Perhaps you should join the army," he suggested. "I heard that the ladies adore a man in uniform." Wickham chuckled. _

"_I could NEVER earn enough money to purchase Percival House on the salary of a soldier," he scoffed. "Maybe your father will help me." Darcy listened to his friend plot the best ways to make money, his distaste for the conversation growing. George Wickham had never been like this before – now it seemed that all he could think about was money and power._

"_I know that my father is fond of you, but do you not see the difficulties in your plan?" Darcy warned._

"_I shall be a great man one day. I shall have a beautiful wife, one to rival any woman that __**you**__ could hope to marry, and I shall have enough money to purchase the estate that should have been mine." Wickham stood, pouting. "The great secret of power is never to will to do more than you can accomplish. I CAN accomplish these things – you'll see! I will be more powerful than you, Fitzwilliam Darcy." The young George Wickham thundered off over the hill._

_The young Darcy sighed, the quote one that he was all too familiar with, one that he had shared with Wickham after one of his tedious visits to his Aunt's home at Rosings Park. __**She**__ was all too focused on having power as well. Darcy stood and prepared to take the long walk home. He glanced once more at Percival House and wondered why Wickham believed that it should have been his. He hoped that it was just the fantasies of a young boy, rather than any real delusion of his right to own it. All Darcy knew was that he had not liked the cold glint in his friend's eye, nor the tone of his voice when he talked of it._

Darcy gasped as the memory came rushing back to him. The one and only time that he had heard George Wickham use that quote. After the visit to his aunt's home, the young Darcy had related the entirety of the visit to his childhood friend, and mentioned that Lady Catherine seemed obsessed by power. Since that day, he himself had not thought on it again – the quote not one that he had occasion to remember. Until now! George Wickham must have thought on that quote with greater intensity than Mr Darcy had ever given him credit for. After that day, the two boys had grown apart, Wickham becoming sullen and disreputable, while Darcy had studied and learnt to become a beloved master of his father's estate. At times over the years, Mr Darcy had regretted losing his childhood friend, until the circumstances that followed caused a rift between them that could never be repaired.

First Georgiana. And now the rogue had Elizabeth, his beloved, and an innocent child. That Wickham hated him, Mr Darcy had no doubt. He was also sure that Wickham was attracted to Elizabeth, making circumstances all the worse for her and all the more urgent for her to be located. If that scoundrel had harmed a hair on Elizabeth's head, Darcy did not know how he would act. All he knew for certain was that Mr George Wickham had to be stopped once and for all.

To be continued...

_Hehe. I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter. I had alot of fun writing the dialogue between Lizzie and Wickham and hope you are all rejoicing in the return of the verbal diarrhoea of our heroine. So now that the observer has been revealed... I can just kick my heels up and have a rest lol._

_Please review and let me know what you thought. _

*Credit for the quote cited in the observers letter and the memory goes to Harry Shearer - The great secret of power is never to will to do more than you can accomplish.


	20. Chapter 20

_Hey everyone - here is the next installment of my story. _

_ANGST WARNING - specifically violence against Lizzie - but I promise all will turn out well._

**Chapter 20**

Mr Wickham was incensed. He slammed the door to Elizabeth's cell, mounting the stairs noisily as if all of the hounds of hell were at his heels. When he reached the top, he found that he was unable to contain himself any longer, and he let out an almighty howl as he slammed his fist into the stone wall. Ignoring the pain, Wickham was like a rabid dog, his eyes filled with madness as he replayed the scene with Elizabeth. _Could she be serious?_ His obsessive thoughts started to overcome him. _Could she really be refusing him, the most desirable man in the militia? _Slow drops of blood dripped from his injured hand, streaking the wall with red and plopping dully onto the floor. Still Wickham stood as if frozen, the slight scratch of his fingernails scraping against the stone the only sound in the silence.

Her words resounded in his head, taunting him further. _"I would NEVER agree to share your bed. You disgust me. Everything about you makes my skin crawl and my heart freeze. I would rather DIE than have you come near me." _And in his moment of madness, Wickham started to laugh in the darkness, an evil sound, a laugh devoid of any humour, a laugh that could put unparalleled terror into even the hardest of men. His next cries were loud enough to wake the dead, certainly loud enough for Elizabeth and Lucy to hear from their cell, and chilling enough to stop their hearts. "You think to escape me, Elizabeth? You think that you can stamp on my abused heart and then discard me into the dust as if I were NOTHING?" He came to the bottom of the stairs, ignoring the gloating looks on the faces of Harvey and his men. From here, she could not fail to understand his meaning. "I WILL HAVE YOU! What will become of your _principles_ when you see your _beloved Darcy_ before you, his life hanging by the point of my sword? You will capitulate then; then you will be BEGGING me to take you!"

Mr Wickham did not attend to the sound of Elizabeth's shocked gasp behind the door, the sound of her quiet pleas to one who could not hear her. He retreated back up the stairs to address his self-inflicted wound and prepare himself for the appointed meeting with Darcy. "Teach her a lesson," he instructed Harvey as he retreated. "Use the girl to make her cooperative if you must. But I want the woman conscious and able to stand when I bring Darcy back here at midnight tomorrow."

* * *

"But Darcy, are you absolutely sure that Wickham is keeping Elizabeth at Percival House? Surely he could not get away with that?" The colonel frowned as Darcy took down his rifle and sword, securing them to his person, his face set with determination. Darcy handed the colonel his second pair of weapons, which his cousin accepted absently.

"I cannot be absolutely certain, Fitzwilliam; however, everything points to this place. Mr Wickham always wanted to live there, and I believe that delusions have finally overtaken him. How else could he have calculated such a plot?"

"But to be inhabiting an estate that does not belong to him, even if the owners are in the process of selling? Surely there must be someone about?" The colonel cautioned his cousin.

Peter Smith came forward - he, too, at the ready to ride with the men. "Excuse me, Sirs, I couldn' 'elp over'earing. Percival 'ouse has bin empty for a long while now. The family lawyer 'andles all enquiries a sale, and ain't nobody seen 'im 'round these parts for many a month."

"I believe that we will find the scoundrel there, Fitzwilliam. I told you of the letter and my memory... Wickham is conceited enough to believe that he can get away with this, that I will not figure out where he is, that I will follow his instructions to come to the church. He will not be expecting us. If we leave now we shall catch him by surprise. It is our best hope." Darcy swung himself up onto his horse, a pleading expression in his eyes as he looked down on his cousin.

"I pray that you are right, Darcy," he spoke, swinging himself up onto his own horse and galloping after Darcy, Peter Smith, and Thomas, Darcy's valet, who had refused to be left behind when Mrs Darcy was in peril.

* * *

Elizabeth was frantic. The words that Wickham had screamed made her blood curdle. Not one to be overly prone to attacks of anxiety, she forced herself to think logically. Elizabeth did not know how long she had until Harvey or Wickham would come back, but she did know that time was of the essence. She tried desperately to think of a plan that would allow them to escape, more importantly, to allow Lucy to escape before she was subjected to more of the substance of nightmares.

And then it was too late; as the key in the rusty lock turned, all of her hopes for escape crashed down and rescue seemed further and further away. Harvey gleamed at Elizabeth through cruel eyes, as he took in the sight of her pale and fragile - broken, just the way he preferred his women to be.

"So _Princess_, I see that you've gone 'nd upset the _master_!" Harvey exclaimed sarcastically. Elizabeth swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat at even the sight of this man. A plan of sorts entered her mind, and Elizabeth took a deep breath, knowing that she would have to draw upon every acting skill that she possessed if she was to pull this off.

And so it began. She shrugged her shoulders cheekily, a wry grin on her face that was meant to hide her disgust with the situation at hand and the men that had captured her. "He is mad." She spoke matter-of-factly. Elizabeth had sensed the disrespect that Harvey had for Wickham and intended to play on that fact.

Harvey sniggered and called out to his accomplices, who must have been standing guard outside the door. "Did ye 'ear that, men? She thinks 'e's gone mad." The guffaws behind the door confirmed their location. "Always bin mad, 'e 'as. Insists on bein' called _master_. Like 'e could ever control us." Elizabeth sighed a dramatic sigh. "Then you must be aware of his plan to take me away from here and sail to France," Elizabeth lied, the falsehood slipping smoothly off her tongue. "As if I would consent to that." She spoke as if conversing with herself, unwilling to appear too friendly to the man in front of her so as not to give herself away.

"France, you say?" Harvey asked, all seriousness now. "So 'e thinks to cheat us, does 'e? Gonna leave 'ere without payin' what 'e owes?" Harvey grasped the tops of Elizabeth's arms in an unrelenting grasp, squeezing as he questioned her further. "Is that what 'e said?"

Elizabeth breathed evenly, trying desperately to control the panic that filled her now that Harvey was touching her. Her arms throbbed where his grip held firm, bruising the fragile skin beneath. "You are hurting me..." she whimpered almost involuntarily.

"Answer me, wench!" Harvey demanded, his eyes boring into hers, his grip tightening even further.

"I do not know..." she started, wincing as the punishing hands lifted her off the ground, so that her legs dangled in the air. "All I know is what I said. He wants me to go with him to France. He plans to leave here as soon as he can. Please..." she whispered, as the tears began to silently fall down her cheeks.

The relief Elizabeth felt when Harvey abruptly released her to stride to the other side of the room, was palpable. She rubbed her upper arms tenderly, her left shoulder aching sickeningly as she catalogued yet another injury on top of an ever-growing list. _Would this ordeal ever be over?_

"I can pay you if you will just release us." Elizabeth spoke desperately now, coming closer to Harvey of her own free will. "You must know who I am, what my husband is worth. Darcy would give anything if I was returned home unharmed. You could be a wealthy man." This was her last hope.

She could see that the man was tempted, his interest apparent by the look of greed that shone over his unsightly features. "Please... he will give you _anything!_"

All of a sudden, the sound of galloping horses penetrated the room, and the shouts of several men could be heard outside. Elizabeth rushed to the tiny barred window, hope filling her soul at the welcome sound, yet she could see nothing. "Help..." she screamed as loud as she was able. "Help us..."

Her heart leapt when she heard his deep reply. "Elizabeth... hold on..." _Fitzwilliam had finally come to rescue them! _

"You hear that, sweetheart?" she crooned, rushing at Lucy. "They have found us. We are safe now."

Elizabeth momentarily forgot about the man who had now lost all hope of being paid for his efforts. Harvey glared menacingly at her as he advanced closer, planning to teach Elizabeth a lesson that she would not soon forget. She did not even notice until she felt Lucy roughly pulled from her grasp and tossed to the ground, as her pained left arm was wrenched by a powerful fist, her shoulder seeming to catch fire as it cracked, and her own screams were unable to be voiced through the excruciating pain.

* * *

Mr Darcy was frantic. He could hear Elizabeth's voice. His heart leapt – they had found her! Soon, Elizabeth would be in his arms, where she belonged.

His body hummed with new energy, the feeling only intensified by the frantic ride to Percival House. Elizabeth's screams, and his answering call, had Wickham's men rushing to the door, a variety of weapons at the ready. Darcy counted three men, malicious grins on their faces at the thought of a fight. The colonel rushed into the fray, followed closely by Thomas and Peter, and the fight commenced. Colonel Fitzwilliam called to Darcy as he made to join them, "Darcy... go and find Elizabeth and Lucy. They need you. We can deal with this." Darcy glanced at his cousin and saw that he had this well and truly in hand, having already knocked one of the men to the ground senseless.

He rushed in the front door, intent on finding Wickham and rescuing Elizabeth.

* * *

Wickham was sitting in the library when he heard the commotion outside; he had been imagining that he was the master of Percival House and that he was being tended by servants. So secure in his plan was he, that he was shocked when he heard the Elizabeth's screams and Darcy's answering reply. The sounds of his guards engaged in fighting outside had him jumping to attention, cowering within the darkened room and cursing Darcy for unravelling his plot.

"Wickham." Darcy located him in an instant, his enemy acting every bit lord of the manor in the master's library. He raised his rifle and pointed it at Wickham, noticing the unsteadiness of the villain's own sword bearing arm.

"Darcy... how did you find me?" Wickham sputtered in disbelief, deep disappointment invading his every pore as he realised that his plans had been thwarted.

"It was not difficult, I assure you." Darcy answered impatiently. "Where is my wife?" he demanded violently. "Tell me now, or I will shoot you where you stand."

Wickham could not resist taunting him. "She is no longer the wife you know, Darcy. Elizabeth has consented to be my mistress. She tires of you and your unwelcome attentions. After I kill you, she will be mine." He spoke unwisely, but used the distraction of his enemy to thrust his sword forward, effectively disarming Darcy. In a nimble move, Darcy skipped back and drew his sword, but not before the sharp point of Wickham's blade found Darcy's flesh, slicing effortlessly through the stiff fabric of his coat and into the sinewy tissue of his left forearm.

"NEVER," Darcy roared, ignoring the sharp sting of pain. He thrust his sword forward, and the fight began in earnest, metal clashing against metal as the enemies fought over Elizabeth, neither willing to let the other live to claim her. Darcy's pain put him at a disadvantage, but his incentive allowed him to ignore it and fight strike for strike. At the back of his mind, Darcy was frantic in his concern for Elizabeth – he needed to finish this quickly so that he could find her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam burst into the room just as Wickham managed to use Darcy's distraction to disarm him. In a split second, the colonel was on Wickham, swords clashing together. "GO..." the colonel urged Darcy.

Darcy needed no second bidding.

Elizabeth's scream led Darcy in the right direction, his panic growing as he neared the place where she was being held, for fear of what he would see. "Hold on, Lizzie," he muttered, as he leapt down the stairs at speed. "I am coming."

* * *

"Release her," Darcy growled, as he stumbled into the room, his arm stinging and bloodied from the blow Wickham had inflicted upstairs.

Harvey looked up at Darcy, as he held Elizabeth by the front of her dress, a limp rag doll-like figure. She was weak and in pain, but Elizabeth knew his voice, and relief flooded her through the overwhelming agony. "Fitzwilliam," she managed to whisper through a nearly closed throat.

"Lizzie, what have they done to you?" Darcy only caught a brief glimpse of his battered wife before his attention was caught from behind by Harvey's two accomplices, who descended on him like wolves. "Fitzwilliam!" he called, alerting his cousin to his whereabouts, hoping for instant aid.

Harvey sneered at Elizabeth, noticing the slight sparkle of hope that had come back into her eyes. "He won't be wantin' ya now, _Princess_. 'Specially when I'm finished wit ya." Elizabeth's eyes widened in fear. Surely, he would do nothing further, not while Darcy was in the same room. Harvey threw her roughly onto the ground, and Elizabeth cried out weakly when her fragile body hit the cold stone slabs with force. Sharp pains shot like fire through her already injured ribs and shoulder.

She searched desperately with her eyes for her husband, but all she could see was a blur of fists and feet, while he fought the two men, trying valiantly to reach her.

"Please..." she begged continually, as Harvey crouched down beside her body. She found that she was unable to move, her head lolling to the side to find her husband who was calling her name with urgency. _Move_, Elizabeth commanded herself. _Lizzie, you have to move..._ However, try as she might, Elizabeth could not get her shattered body to obey her. Caught in a dream, she was aware of the fetid breath, moist lips, and rotten teeth, as they smashed down onto her swollen lips. "Fitzwilliam..." she pleaded desperately, willing him to save her from this attack.

Darcy was in agony, his despair and distraction growing as he was forced to witness his beloved wife being debased by one of her captors. His mind tortured him that perhaps this had not been the first time during this ordeal that she had been made to suffer such indignities. He groaned, as the two men took him and restrained him, leaving him helpless but to watch the scene unfolding in front of him.

Between roars of rage, Darcy spoke to Elizabeth. "Lizzie, you are the strongest woman I know. You can do this_. Fight_!"

Her eyes found his brown ones, and she noted with increasing despair that he was being held back by the two men, bruised and battered. The fear in his eyes was what gave her the strength.

A slimy tongue slipped its way into her mouth, and then suddenly Elizabeth was aware of large hands groping her breasts. Praying, Elizabeth bared her teeth and bit down on the offensive tongue, a strange satisfaction overcoming her when she heard the pained howl of Harvey, and his body weight lifting away from her. Darcy continued to struggle, desperate for release.

"Come with me," Harvey lifted Elizabeth effortlessly from the ground, his eyes flashing with fury. He reached his hand back and brought it down across Elizabeth's face brutally, her head snapping to the side. It was a feeling that Elizabeth was used to by now, and this time she did not even have the strength to cry.

"Elizabeth..." Darcy roared, and with a strength for which he could not account, he finally ripped himself loose from the two men. Just as he did, Colonel Fitzwilliam came bursting through the door and immediately entered the fight. "Get your hands off her," Darcy bellowed, charging at the man who held Elizabeth.

"You want _this_ do you?" The man held Elizabeth up in front of him, and Darcy gasped in shock when he saw up close her bloodied face and dulled eyes close, his heart shattered.

"Lizzie..." His tone was gentle, and he reached for her, moved to tenderness by the sight of his beloved so wronged.

Then before he could take her, Harvey flung Elizabeth from him, towards Lucy, who was crouched into the corner, long forgotten. Darcy tried to reach her in time to save her, lunging for her, but as he heard the crack when her body crashed into the floor, he roared in fury. He heard a soft groan as he came beside her. "Elizabeth..." he caught her eyes briefly, hers hazed with an agony of pain such as she had never known.

"You... came..." Her soft, broken words were his undoing as his hand briefly stroked her uninjured cheek.

Elizabeth felt his warm touch before allowing herself to succumb to the darkness that would bring at least some relief from her agony.

_Please review. Hope you enjoyed._


	21. Chapter 21

_Thanks for all the comments on my previous chapter. Woohoo... Darcy to the rescue! And - I reached 200 reviews. Anyway, hope you enjoy the next installment. As always, thanks to Gayle for her BETA services. Please read and review._

**Chapter 21**

Darcy watched as the usually smiling brown eyes of his beloved Elizabeth fluttered closed, her face so pale in the darkened room, forgetting for precious seconds that her attacker was still standing. Just as Harvey was upon him, sneaking up from behind with light footsteps, Darcy felt a hurricane of hatred rise up within him, drawing him to his feet. His sword long discarded, he raised his fists as he turned to face Elizabeth's abuser.

"Nooooo..." He bellowed, his fist coming into satisfying contact with the large man's face. Harvey fell, the impact of the stunning blow unexpected coming from a gentleman. In that moment, Mr Darcy's legendary control shattered, and he was but a man avenging his abused wife. He looked down on him in detestation, as the large man grovelled before him. His rage was complete, and for the first time in his adult life, Darcy gave in to it, his fists pounding into Harvey where he lay. His words were inaudible, but were no doubt words not fit for a lady's ear. Darcy did not come to his senses until the restraining arms of Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled him back, rage fighting for supremacy over reason as Darcy struggled to break free from the hold of his cousin. "Darcy... you will kill him," the colonel spoke urgently.

"No more than he deserves," Darcy roared.

"Darcy... calm down man. She needs you!" Darcy ceased to struggle then, and he pulled out of his cousin's stronghold, wiping his bloodied fists on the white linen of his shirt. His eyes caught and held the colonel's as they looked at each other in despair. As if of one mind, they turned to look at Elizabeth, momentarily forgotten in the thick of the fight; yet, now safe by their actions. She lay on the cold stone floor, still as death, pale as the moon, her skin almost translucent in its pallor. Lucy had crept beside Elizabeth, and was sobbing in earnest, as she whimpered out commands for Elizabeth to wake up, her tiny hands tugging on any part of Lizzie that she could reach.

Colonel Fitzwilliam strode over to the young girl and lifted her into his arms effortlessly, whispering soothing words as she spoke to him through a haze of tears. "Make her wake up. Let me go! Make Lizzie wake up."

"Hush, little one," Colonel Fitzwilliam crooned softly. "Lizzie is sleeping because she is hurt. She will wake when she is ready. I shall take you to your father."

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy, ready words on his lips, but the words never escaped as he caught sight of the devastation on his cousin's face when he moved over to his beloved's side.

Tears were in his eyes as he sank to his knees beside Elizabeth's still deathly figure. "Elizabeth, sweetheart..." he choked out, his voice catching, as he took her pale hand, pressing a feverish kiss to the cold palm. "What have I done?" He looked down on her, allowing himself finally to realise the extent of her injuries. Her cheekbone and lip was swollen and bloodied, the dark bruises prominent on her ashen face. "Elizabeth, please, speak to me! Tell me that you will not give up," he pleaded, with tears gathering in his eyes. She lay still, her left arm resting at an awkward angle, and her breathing was weak and shallow.

Darcy was in anguish. He tenderly stroked the black strands of hair from Elizabeth's bruised face, speaking to her of his love, as if knowing that the words would comfort her. "What did they do to you, my love?" he whispered now, taking her limp body into his arms gently, careful not to damage her further. He rested her head against his chest and began rocking her tenderly. "Please God, let her live?" he pleaded in a broken voice. "Why could it not have been me? Why did this have to happen to my innocent Lizzie?" His voice choked, a few hot tears escaping as he buried his face into Elizabeth's hair.

Colonel Fitzwilliam came beside him, and placed a hand on Darcy's shoulder, his heart breaking for both of them. "The doctor has arrived." Darcy looked up in surprise, and the colonel explained. "I sent Smith to fetch him when I knew where we would be going. I suspected that we would require his assistance." Darcy's eyes moved to the doctor's grave face.

"Doctor, tell me she will be well. Tell me she will live," Darcy begged, not relinquishing his tender hold on his wife.

"Mr Darcy, sir, I need to examine her." The doctor stepped closer, his voice gentle as he coaxed Mr Darcy away from Elizabeth. Mr Darcy nodded, and quickly whispered his parting words to Elizabeth before placing her gently back on the ground, "Fight it, Lizzie. I cannot live without you."

* * *

"Lucy... my pretty girl." Peter Smith had tears in his eyes as Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his daughter into his arms. Her girlish arms twined around his neck as if she would never let him go.

"Papa..." Lucy exclaimed, breaking into renewed sobs of both excitement and grief.

"Thank you, sir." Peter mouthed the words to Colonel Fitzwilliam, his gratitude endless that Mr Darcy and the colonel would help him even after his betrayal. Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded, though his heart was heavy.

"You're safe now, baby. Mama and Peter canno' wait ta see you. Was you a brave girl? Did they 'urt you?"

Lucy hiccupped, her head shaking vigorously. "They 'urt Lizzie, Papa. Lizzie told me to stay in tha corner 'nd close my eyes 'nd not listen 'nd not talk. But I 'eard em 'urt her, Papa. Then Lizzie cried 'nd I sung a lullaby." Peter listened in astonishment as his daughter spoke, and his heart sank as he realised that the mistress must have sacrificed all to spare Lucy from being hurt. He prayed that she would be safe and sound; he owed Mrs Darcy more than he would ever be able to repay.

* * *

Colonel Fitzwilliam found himself pacing the hallway outside the cell where the doctor was examining Elizabeth, glancing every now and then at his pocket watch and at his lifeless cousin. Darcy stood at the door, longing to be on the other side, desperate to know what the doctor was discovering. His forehead and palms rested on the wood of the door, the closest he could possibly be to his wife without being in the room. His entire body trembled.

"What if she does not survive this, cousin? What will I do if I have to endure alone?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam had no answer; he merely ceased his pacing and shook his head in despair. When Darcy turned to face him, he saw his cousin with his head hung low, wishing that he could give Darcy the reassurance he sought. However, the colonel found now that the hour was upon them, he could not.

"Did... did Elizabeth say anything in there?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked in a low voice, needing to understand further what had happened to Elizabeth. But Darcy merely shook his head. "She did not even open her eyes again, Fitzwilliam. It was as if she were..." He couldn't finish and found himself swallowing the air as if it were his drug. "That contemptible piece of scum. You should have seen her eyes, Fitzwilliam – it was as if they were dead. If only I could have reached her in time – I should have seen it; I should have caught her before she hit the stones. But I was too late... the crack... it was... and then she..." His words became incoherent as Darcy forced himself to relive the scene.

Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his hands on Darcy's shoulder and looked seriously at him. "She knew you were there. She knew you had come to rescue her."

Comforted by the thought, Darcy nodded once, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. "Thank you."

* * *

The doctor emerged from the room, immediately searching for Mr Darcy, who rushed to him in expectation. "Doctor..." he began. The grave expression on the doctor's face made his stomach drop and his heart pound.

"Sir, your wife is alive... though barely," he spoke as Mr Darcy rushed into the room to see Elizabeth for himself. "She has suffered a great many injuries, and I believe that she has not consumed any food during this ordeal. She is very weak and very fragile at this moment."

"What can I do, Doctor? She cannot die!" Mr Darcy spoke, kneeling.

"I must warn you that there is a possibility that Mrs Darcy will not live through this ordeal. However, to give her the best chance for recovery, she needs to be moved to someplace warm where I can tend her injuries further."

"Pemberley?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked the doctor, who nodded his assent.

"I think that would be for the best. I do not want to have to move her twice. If she is taken in the carriage and protected from too much jolting, I feel that is her best chance."

"How can that be achieved? It is a treacherous road to Pemberley from here, and if we spend too much time transporting her, we will risk her life further, shall we not?"

The doctor merely nodded. "I would suggest that Mr Darcy carry her, attempting to take the jolting movements of the carriage through his own body."

Darcy agreed readily and carefully picked up his still unconscious wife, cradling her in his arms for the ride home. "We shall be home soon, Lizzie, and then we shall get you warm and your injuries tended. You will be well, Lizzie. You must be."

* * *

The mastermind was pleased. Soon the months of careful planning would come to fruition and that interloper, Elizabeth Bennet, would be dead.

Fitzwilliam Darcy would then be free, and the mastermind had plans for how that same gentleman would spend the rest of his life.

The mastermind sighed, thinking of the loose cannon that was George Wickham. _Could he be trusted to carry out this plan to its completion? Could he kill Elizabeth Bennet?_ She was a woman whom every man seemed to desire. It must be those fine eyes and extroverted nature... it drew men in... so that they would do anything to win her.

The mastermind knew that the plan could not fail – not with the likes of Harvey involved. Wickham would try to save the girl, but Harvey would ensure that she was killed.

The mastermind picked up the letter written long ago – a letter offering condolences to Mr Darcy for the untimely passing of his wife, smoothing it through shameless fingers and wondering if it was too soon to post.

* * *

"Elizabeth... you are awake." Darcy took her hand as she opened her brown eyes and stared at him, pain clouding her every feature.

"You came..." The words were merely a whisper through her parched lips.

"Of course, I came, Lizzie. I am only sorry I could not find you sooner." Darcy knelt beside the bed, grasping tightly to the thread of life that caused Elizabeth to survive thus far. He was filled with new hope now that she was awake and talking.

"I thought you would never come. He tried to... Lucy, where is Lucy?" Her words were fevered now, a million thoughts and fears racing through her traumatised brain.

"Hush, Lizzie. Lucy is well. She was not harmed." Darcy stroked his fingers over Elizabeth's damp brow and into her long hair, soothing her with his touch.

"Fitzwilliam... he... he tried to... I could not get away..." Tears filled her eyes as Elizabeth was forced to relive the scenes of her abuse.

"I know, my love... but you are safe now. You are safe..." Darcy crooned as he continued his ministrations. He glanced up as the doctor came beside the bed, ready now to reset Elizabeth's left shoulder.

"It hurts... please..." she moaned pitifully, as she felt her arm being lifted, and it pained Darcy to see it.

"Can we not wait until she is asleep?" he asked the doctor softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern for the condition of Elizabeth.

"I am afraid we cannot, sir. The laudanum I administered should have taken effect by now. However any pain will be for only a moment, and then should lessen considerably. At any rate, she will most likely faint, and that would be a blessing. She must rest. I am concerned for this fever that she seems to have developed." The doctor spoke directly to Mr. Darcy, "Shall we commence?"

Mr Darcy nodded once, and bent down to Elizabeth, turning her feverish face with his hand so that she was looking into his eyes. For a moment he thought that she focused on him, and her restlessness eased. He squeezed her hand gently, and felt himself slowly dying when Elizabeth screamed in pain as her dislocated shoulder was manoeuvred into its natural position. "Forgive me..." he choked out to her as she focused her eyes on him once more, before mercifully succumbing to a faint.

To be continued...

:( _for poor Lizzie! But at least she is home now right? Please review!_


	22. Chapter 22

_To all my readers - thanks for all of the reviews. They were very appreciated and kept me motivated for the following chapters. I hope you enjoy this update._

_Thanks to Gayle again for BETA-ing._

_Please read and review!_

**Chapter 22**

It was morning when the doctor stood at the entrance to Pemberley, ready to depart. "I have done all that I can for your wife, Sir! Now it is up to her. She seems to be a strong woman, Mr Darcy; not many of the ladies of my acquaintance would have come through that ordeal alive. Please fetch me at any time if there is a change in her condition; otherwise, I will see you tomorrow morning."

Mr Darcy shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you, Doctor Winters. Your service has been invaluable."

As the doctor left, Mr Darcy allowed the fatigue to overwhelm him for a moment, his every thought on Elizabeth. He slowly walked back into the house and determinedly to her room, taking in the medicinal smell that now lingered.

Her body was small and fragile, seemingly dwarfed in the large bed. Elizabeth had suffered cruelly at the hands of Wickham and his accomplices – sustaining a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, and several bruises that even now discoloured her perfect skin. Elizabeth had not awakened again following the manipulation of her shoulder, the doctor seeming to think that she had lapsed into unconsciousness, and reassuring him that it was not unexpected in her condition. Mr Darcy found himself thanking God that she could now mayhap recover without the pain that she surely would suffer were she awake.

Colonel Fitzwilliam knocked on the door, and Mr Darcy went to him reluctantly, not wanting to be away from Elizabeth for even one moment, lest her condition change. "Did you ask him about your concern?" the colonel asked, knowing how Darcy had been burdened with the knowledge that she could have been debased.

"I did," Darcy replied. "He said that there was no evidence of the occurrence of anything improper in _that_ manner. He was concerned about that himself and examined her prior to my even asking."

"Thank God," the colonel spoke, a huge burden now lifted off his own shoulders, his having feared that she had been harmed in that way. Now, Elizabeth just had to pull through and everything would be as it should be.

* * *

Mr Darcy kept a vigil at Elizabeth's bedside for the entire day and throughout the night. He grasped her cold, limp hand in his, occasionally pressing warm kisses to the soft skin there. Mostly he talked to her... of his fears for her, of his hopes and dreams for them, and of his deep felt remorse for his part in what she now suffered. When he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, Darcy lay on the bed cover next to his beloved and slept fitfully, her scent filling his nostrils, the familiar feeling of her body beside him comforting his tortured soul. And when he woke, Darcy resumed his place beside Elizabeth, perfectly still on the bed, contemplating her beauty... for to his eyes she was magnificent, even in this fragile state.

"_I knew you would come..." Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, all pain miraculously vanished. She was lying in a field of the most brilliant daffodils. The sun shone brightly ahead, its dazzling rays intensifying and illuminating the blue of the sky, green of the grass and yellow of the flowers. Elizabeth could smell the scents of nature all around her... and smiled up at Darcy who stood above her, his beloved features misty. Her teeth gleamed the whitest of whites beneath ruby lips, eyes brilliant and sparkling as a sense of well-being invaded her body... and Elizabeth felt perfectly contented._

"_Sweetheart... my Lizzie." Darcy took both of her hands in his strong arms and lifted her to her feet... and beyond, her arms fastening around his neck as he swung her around and around until they were both laughing uncontrollably, revelling in the perfect moment of happiness. "My courageous, brilliant, remarkable Lizzie." His crooked smile made Elizabeth's heart melt and her entire self fall in love with her husband all over again._

"Fitzwilliam..." A hoarse voice broke the silence, and Darcy shifted closer to Elizabeth where she lay, his hand gripping hers even tighter.

"Lizzie," he spoke softly, willing those big brown eyes to open and look upon him.

"Fitzwilliam..." Now a broken whisper, but undoubtedly his name on her lips. Yet, even through his every entreaty and encouragement, Elizabeth did not wake.

* * *

_Pain shot through Elizabeth's ribs as Harvey and Mr Wickham stood in front of her, jeering at her fear. Elizabeth crouched on the floor, her head in her hands, waiting for more blows. Together the two evil men tormented her, her body aching. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, stinging the cut on her lips, before falling like raindrops to the stone floor below._

"It hurts... stop... please..." Elizabeth tossed and turned in her bed moaning in pain in her unconscious state. The doctor stood over her, the solemn expression on his face concerning to all present.

"Doctor..." Mr Darcy stepped forward, needing to be closer to his moaning wife, needing to know the doctor's findings. It was torture waiting for news. He could not lose Elizabeth – Darcy knew that he could no longer live in a world where she had ceased to exist.

"Mr Darcy... I am afraid that fever has taken her. Your wife is gravely ill... the next few hours are crucial to her survival, and if you can aid her through them and the fever breaks, we may yet see her live. You must keep her cool, and calm... the tossing and turning will only cause her further injury. However I must caution you, Sir, Mrs Darcy does not do well, and you must prepare yourself for the worst."

Mr Darcy took in a deep shuddering breath as he stared in almost complete incomprehension of the news. For a moment, he was numb beyond belief. The doctor placed a gentle hand on Darcy's back as he retreated, his promise whispered to Colonel Fitzwilliam in the hallway that he would return each hour to check the progress of his patient.

The colour seeped out of Mr Darcy's face, his body shaking uncontrollably as he looked back at the now flushed Elizabeth, sweat covering her brow, her face moving from side to side as she moaned. He placed a hand to her face and was shocked by the heat that emanated from Elizabeth's body. Immediately, he stripped the blankets off his wife and called to her maid.

"Catherine... have the maids prepare a cool bath in her chamber for Mrs Darcy as soon as possible. In the meantime, fetch some cool water and clean cloths. We must get her cool." Mr Darcy removed his own cravat and dipped it in the ewer of water beside the bed. Gently he placed it against her forehead in an attempt to cool her down.

_Mr Wickham loomed over her... holding bloodied hands in front of her. "I told you that he would not kill me... he just does not have the courage. He just watched while I plunged my sword into his heart. He would not kill me, even for YOU!"_

"No... do not hurt him... please..." Elizabeth screamed in sleep, her dreams becoming more vivid now. Mr Darcy was nearing exhaustion, awaiting the maids to finish preparing the cool bath. Mrs Reynolds had entreated him to allow the maids to tend Elizabeth, but Mr Darcy had refused, trusting no-one but himself to tend to his beloved.

"Lizzie, sweetheart. You are safe now. You are safe." Darcy murmured the words softly to Elizabeth, wiping a cool cloth across her slender neck. He leaned down and kissed her rosy lips, unable to stop himself. At his tender touch and soothing voice, Elizabeth calmed slightly, her breathing becoming more level and her restlessness ceasing for a time.

When the bath was ready, Mr Darcy dismissed everyone but Mrs Reynolds, who refused to leave her beloved mistress in her hour of need. Darcy carried Elizabeth over to the bath and allowed Mrs Reynolds to undress her down to her chemise. He placed her tenderly in the cool bath and cringed as she incoherently protested against the cold. One large hand supported Elizabeth's back so that she would remain sitting, while the other took the cool sponge and gently smoothed it over her feverish body. All the while, Darcy spoke to her in soft comforting tones.

Mrs Reynolds found herself turning away on several occasions, feeling like an intruder on her master's private grief. Her heart was filled with joy at what she observed of Mr Darcy's feelings towards the mistress – a deep, abiding love unparalleled by the love of even his own father for his mother. The way he spoke to her, the way he so carefully sponged her down so as not to cause any further pain, the way he sacrificed his own comfort so that he could be by her side and tend her himself – Mrs Reynolds found herself near to tears at the bath's end, and prayed even harder that the mistress would live.

Only when Elizabeth's body had cooled did Darcy lift her out of the bath and allow Mrs Reynolds to remove her chemise and dry her with soft towels. He sucked in a deep breath as he saw the raw nakedness of his wife, black and blue from her injuries. _What pain she must have gone through,_ Darcy tortured himself with the imagining of it. When she was dressed, Darcy placed Elizabeth on the newly changed bed and had the doctor return to re-bandage her shoulder.

* * *

Mr and Mrs Bingley arrived at Pemberley while Elizabeth was still feverish. The house was deathly still when they entered, and Jane looked at Mr Bingley with deepening concern. The housekeeper was nowhere to be found, still above stairs tending to her mistress.

Colonel Fitzwilliam strode out of Mr Darcy's library, his face drawn and features tensed. He looked up in surprise when Mr Bingley greeted him. "Bingley, Mrs Bingley." He bowed abruptly, barely remembering his manners as he welcomed them to Pemberley.

"Where is my sister? Has she yet been found?" Jane moved closer to the colonel in entreaty, her hands grasping his, her manner urgent. Mr Bingley moved behind his wife and placed both hands on her shoulders in silent strength.

Colonel Fitzwilliam merely nodded, noticing the relieved tears that filled Jane's eyes. Mr Bingley frowned, knowing that all was not as it appeared. "Is Elizabeth well?" he enquired, hearing Jane's gasp, as she looked up in alarm.

"Elizabeth suffered some terrible injuries at the hands of the villains that kidnapped her. The doctor has been and seen to her injuries, however it seems that a serious fever has overcome her, and even at this moment, Darcy is tending to her in an attempt that she will survive."

"I must go to my sister at once." Jane exclaimed.

"I shall take you to her, Mrs Bingley." Colonel Fitzwilliam offered his arm to Jane and led her up to Elizabeth's room.

* * *

She felt like she was swimming through a dense mist. But no matter how hard she tried, Elizabeth could not surface. Around her, like echoes through an empty hallway, she could hear voices calling to her. _Were they calling to her?_ Voices, unrecognisable in the mist – urgent, pressured, muffled – yet her mind could not attend.

It was as if she was no longer connected with her body, the pain which she could remember feeling so recently had disappeared. _What happened? Why could she not make sense of anything? _Through the haze, gradually a deep voice began to penetrate Elizabeth's conscious mind. A deep spark of joyful fire lit in her heart and warmed her. He was calling out to her, asking her to live for him, telling her that he could not live without her. It was her Darcy.

Elizabeth tried in vain to give him a sign that she was listening, that she was going to live, but her body would not obey. A hoarse sound was the only sign that Elizabeth was able to give... her broken pronunciation of his name. "Fitz…wil…liam."

"Did you hear that?" Jane looked down at her sister's supine form, which had lain so still on the bed since the fever had broken. She sat on one side of Elizabeth's bed, while Darcy claimed the other, both keeping a vigil beside their unconscious loved one. Jane knew that Darcy had heard it; his eyes were shining with a suspicious brightness as he looked up, and his brown eyes met her blue ones in a gaze of pure hopefulness.

Darcy picked up Elizabeth's hand, and squeezed it tightly. "Elizabeth... open your beautiful eyes for me..." His other hand stroked the dark curls of hair which fanned over the pillow.

"Lizzie... it is Jane. Wake up dearest..." Jane's gentle voice joined in the cajoling.

"My love, if you can hear me, try to squeeze my hand." Jane looked up at her brother and then down at his hand joined with Elizabeth's. She watched closely, hoping beyond hope that Elizabeth would find a way to show them that she heard.

For long moments nothing happened; Elizabeth remained as still as before. But just as Darcy had given up hope, he felt a slight twitch within his hand. Then a soft voice, whispering, "Fitzwilliam..."

"Lizzie... I am here," his deep voice reassured her, and his eyes fixed onto her face. "I am not going anywhere." Long dark eyelashes fluttered against the pale face, and then Elizabeth's eyes opened, fixing for a moment on Darcy's face, before fluttering closed again, a small smile fixed on rosebud lips.

Jane felt tears fill her eyes, and suddenly she knew that all would be well. Elizabeth would come through this – her strong sister would survive. She looked at Darcy, sitting so attentively by Elizabeth's side, his eyes never leaving her face for a moment, as if willing her to wake. _How could she ever have doubted Darcy's love for Elizabeth? _What they felt for each other appeared to be deeper than even Jane had guessed. She stood slowly and stretched, murmuring to Darcy that she would be nearby if he needed her, though he barely even noticed her going. Jane felt overwrought – she needed to find her own husband and have him hold her, and meanwhile, give Darcy some time alone with his wife.

* * *

_Early morning had dawned, and Mr Darcy was beyond contentment. The fresh breeze swirled gently in through the open window, leaving a delicious chill in the air. He could smell the fresh earthly scents of the trees and the flowers that adorned the balcony of the mistress's chambers at Pemberley. And now, the chambers were filled – with his mistress, his wife, his Elizabeth. In the excitement of their first night together at Pemberley, Mr and Mrs Darcy had neglected to close the bay window._

_Mr Darcy was enchanted with the curled up form of his wife beside him – so trusting in innocent sleep. Her loose brown curls fell across his chest, her face comfortably arranged in the crook of his neck, with a smile adorning her swollen lips. One small hand rested warmly against his naked chest, the other clasped in his. Although it was cold, Mr Darcy could not bring himself to move – so rare was it that he woke before his wife – that he found himself longing to savour the experience. Goosebumps covered her delicate skin, so Mr Darcy drew the coverlet up over Elizabeth's still naked shoulder – he smiled as he remembered the passion that had led to his wife falling straight to sleep following its expression, rather than her usual practice of modestly donning her chemise._

_Elizabeth was lovely in sleep, dark eyelashes contrasting with the radiant glow of rosy cheeks and reddened lips. Mr Darcy was unable to help himself from touching the full lips, and of its own volition his hand moved up to trace them. "My lovely wife... How did I find you?" he murmured, his adoration of his wife growing with every passing moment. He moved up to rest on his elbow as Elizabeth slept, as she snuggled comfortably closer in response._

_Mr Darcy leaned down over Elizabeth, his lips barely touching the corner of her lips, before gliding gently across her cheekbone... temple... hairline... Elizabeth sighed in pleasure and opened her eyes reluctantly, afraid that she was in the midst of a dream. Her heart leapt in delight when her eyes met his, ardour darkening his to black. "Mmmm..." she murmured blissfully, stretching her body like a contented kitten. "What a nice way to be awakened." _

_Mr Darcy placed his fingers against her lips. "Hush, my temptress..." His head lowered to cover her lips and devour them in urgent passion, tongues meeting in sweet caresses, Elizabeth responding with enthusiasm, her shyness lessening with every night spent in such embraces._

_And when the passion had reached its natural conclusion, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy lay curled against each other in the rapidly cooling air, so recently heated by their ardour. _

Mr Darcy looked around this room, so altered since that night when he had first made Elizabeth the true mistress of Pemberley. How changed she looked now, lying there, the rosy glow from her complexion erased by circumstances, her life now hanging in the balance. He touched a soothing palm to Elizabeth's forehead, sighing in relief when it felt cool to the touch, her fever abated.

He leaned over her and pressed his warm lips to her cool ones, wishing that Elizabeth had never suffered like this and that they could have lived their lives together in perfect bliss. "How I love you, Lizzie. I hope that you may never again be in doubt of that."

_Please review! Hope you enjoyed!_


	23. Chapter 23

_Thanks to Gayle for BETA-ing!_

**Chapter 23**

Catherine tiptoed cautiously down the long corridor of the great estate – the house suddenly still as death. She was well aware that the corridors echoed every sound through the empty space, and Catherine shivered, wishing she could shake off her unease.

The other servants were otherwise occupied, no doubt tending to the wishes of Mr Darcy and the colonel – most above stairs awaiting news of the mistress. Catherine sighed unhappily. In the nine weeks since she had come to Pemberley, she had come to admire and respect the mistress – and her past actions weighed upon her heavily now.

Carefully looking around her for the signs of any observers, Catherine stopped at Mr Darcy's library door and listened carefully for the sounds within. Hearing nothing but the muffled curses of Mr Wickham, Catherine entered the library and moved to his form, trussed up with no hope of escape.

"Catherine, my princess, how relieved I am to see you," Wickham spoke warmly. "Come and untie me, will you?" Catherine found herself gasping at the alteration in his appearance since the last time she had seen him, one eye swollen and black, his mouth bloodied, and his appearance haggard.

"Why should I, Mr Wickham? I 'ave seen what ye did to the mistress, when ye told me that she wouldn' be 'armed." Catherine glared at the man, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Why should you care what happened to her?" Mr Wickham asked harshly. "Do not tell me that your loyalties have transferred."

"Tis none of yer concern. I wish I'd never gotten m'self involved in this plot!" Catherine found herself regretting the moment those long weeks ago when she had agreed to take employment at Pemberley and leak information to Mr Wickham about her new employers. She had not realised that he had planned for this when he had obtained the consent of Catherine's previous employer to carry out the duty – she had no idea that anyone would be harmed. Then she had fallen prey to Mr Wickham's charms.

"And do you regret _us_?" Mr Wickham asked with feeling.

Catherine placed her hand over her still flat stomach and knew that she would have to tell him. "I 'ave to go 'way; I carry yer child." She searched his face carefully, to take in the full impact of her words. What Catherine saw made her heart sink. Although he tried to disguise it, his first glance was one of revulsion, and he sputtered ineloquently, "What..."

"Ye got me pregnant," Catherine spoke more forcefully. Her actions, henceforth, were clear. No matter what Mr Wickham stated, she knew that he would not stand by her or their child – he was a feckless rake and now a felon.

"Catherine, untie me, and I will ensure that you will never want for anything. Let us leave here together."

Catherine hesitated, unsure if she could aid the escape of a man who could cause so much injury to an innocent woman. "How do I know tha' ye won' 'urt me an' the babe?" Catherine asked him cautiously, for surely a man who was capable of so much violence against a woman could strike again. "I'd mayhap be best appealin' to my former mistress to take me in."

"You can trust me, Catherine. It was not I who harmed Elizabeth... Mrs Darcy..." He corrected himself when he noticed the surprised look that crossed Catherine's face at his familiarity of address. "That was the doing of the men whom I hired... on the orders of that same mistress to whom you just referred. It was she who wanted Mrs Darcy killed, she who ordered me to take care of it, yet I found that I could not. You would do better trusting me to care for you and the baby, for that woman will no longer have anything to do with you."

"What of your interest in Mrs Darcy? Don' think I 'aven't seen the way ye look at 'er. I wonder 'ow long yer support of me 'nd the child will last, when ye lust after every pretty wench that ye meet? I'd do better on me own." Catherine took one last look at Mr Wickham's bloodied face, the disbelief apparent now that he realised he would not get his way. She walked quickly from the room, sudden disgust filling her at the treachery in which she had become involved. If her former mistress was behind this plot to kill Mrs Darcy, then nobody here at Pemberley would be safe. Catherine knew that she could no longer live with her conscience if she did not at least attempt to atone for her mistakes – Mrs Darcy would not die if she could do anything about it. She made her way up to her small room and took out a pen and paper for her confession.

* * *

When her eyes opened again, Elizabeth saw that Darcy was beside her, his head bent down over her tightly held hand. This time, she knew that she was awake, because now, Elizabeth became aware of the physical signs that told her that something was not right. Her throat was on fire, and her entire body, heavy as lead, ached. It hurt to draw breath.

Elizabeth forced herself to ignore the physical, her entire heart urging her to speak to her husband, to hear his beloved voice as soon as possible. She breathed his name through parched lips, "Fitzwilliam."

Darcy lifted his head immediately, his shock soon overtaken with absolute joy. "Lizzie, you are awake." He smiled at her in adoration.

"Water..." Elizabeth whispered croakily, her eyes closing over for a moment with fatigue. She struggled to lift her head from the pillow, as Darcy poured her a glass of water, moaning as she fell back without success.

"Elizabeth... do not exert yourself. Allow me." Darcy lifted Elizabeth gently into a sitting position and held the glass up for her to drink, which she did greedily. "Enough..." he insisted, when Elizabeth would have taken more. "You have been very ill; do not overdo it."

He settled her back onto the pillows and sat beside her, his hand in her hair affectionately. "What happened?" Elizabeth asked in confusion, the pain flooding her.

"Do you not remember?" Darcy asked in concern.

"I remember pain... and..." Tears welled up in Elizabeth's eyes as she strained to remember. "It is too blurry. I do not remember. Tell me?" she implored Darcy, grasping his hand tighter, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

"You were kidnapped, sweetheart. Wickham took you and Lucy and kept you..." He did not finish, as the memories came rushing back, and Elizabeth gasped.

"Lucy?" she asked urgently.

"Is unharmed. She is with her mother and father, and apart from wanting to see you, she is well," Darcy reassured.

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes closed to block out the memories which rushed back with dizzying speed. She remembered Harvey and Wickham and the cold, dark room, the sweet voice of Lucy singing to her, and her desperation for Darcy to come. With it came the memories, perhaps more painful, of the argument that she and her husband had had prior to her kidnap.

"_You just pretended to change until you became bored of the challenge. You made me love you... rely on you... and then you discarded me as if I were nothing. Well, it serves me right for believing that you were a better man than the likes of Mr Wickham. For ever believing you were anything but the proud and arrogant man that I first took you for." Elizabeth walked to the door, pausing as she turned the door handle. Her parting words were muffled. "I hope that you are proud of yourself, Sir, for deceiving me so wholly, and that you may live with your decision for the rest of your lonely life." She slipped from the room quietly, vision blurred with unrestrained tears as she ran to her chamber. _

The devastation that Elizabeth had felt rushed back to her – her resolve not to open her heart to him again. Yet here she was, as much in love with Darcy as ever, his sweetness in the face of her injuries like a squeeze to her vulnerable heart. _Why was he even here?_ Elizabeth wondered, her eyes opening to look into his. _Did he really love her? Could his love be once again engaged?_ Her breathing hitched, hope renewing like a blooming flower. But as she looked into warm eyes staring back at her, Elizabeth told herself that she could not trust his seemingly fickle emotions. She resolved to guard her own heart against any further suffering. Tears leaked slowly from her eyes, as Elizabeth formed a shield around her heart, and suddenly the pain in her body overwhelmed her, that which had been forgotten for brief minutes by the overshadowing of her memories.

"Lizzie, what is it? Are you in pain? What can I do?" Darcy's hand cupped Elizabeth's cheek, and his thumb pad brushed the tears gently from her eyes.

"I..." Elizabeth was unable to speak; comprehensible words would not form in her mind. So instead, she turned her face away from Darcy and cried silently until she fell asleep, not even noticing the hurt that passed across his every feature at his exclusion.

* * *

Mr Darcy hesitated outside the door to his library, where Wickham waited within. He did not know if he would be able to control his rage if he even caught a glimpse of the scoundrel that had caused so much pain to Elizabeth; he did not know if he could trust himself to stifle the urge to run the man through with the nearest weapon. Why Wickham had asked to see him, he could not even guess, but he would have imagined that the man would avoid Darcy at all costs after the heinous abuse of Elizabeth, until he was safely in the hands of the magistrate.

He took a deep breath and braced himself to enter, limiting himself to ten minutes so that he could get back to Elizabeth. Darcy was surprised by the sight of Wickham, his face bloodied and bruised from the fight with his cousin. He had not seen the blackguard since leaving him with his cousin in order to search for Elizabeth. He felt not a small amount of satisfaction at his enemy's injuries, only wishing that he could have inflicted them himself. He dismissed the men guarding Wickham with a nod, noting that he was now ready for transportation to Lambton and therefore no longer bound.

Wickham was looking at him from across the room, too cowardly to come closer to Darcy. He did not speak. "What do you want?" Darcy spoke impatiently, refusing to speak Wickham's dreaded name. His expression was that of barely contained rage.

"I want to know what you intend to do with me?" Wickham spoke quietly, his air one of contriteness.

"I intend to turn you over to the magistrate," Darcy stated tersely. "As much as I would enjoy killing you myself... I will leave that pleasure to the law."

"You cannot even bring yourself to be a man now, can you Darcy? I told Lizzie that you would not kill me. I told her that you would not kill me even for her. She defended you to the last." Wickham sneered, goading Darcy. He had nothing to lose now – he was as good as dead anyway.

"DO NOT speak her name." Darcy took a menacing step towards Wickham, who hastily retreated, taking the likeness of a frightened mouse.

Wickham laughed. "Lizzie was convinced that you loved her enough to kill me for laying a hand on her. Does it not disgust you to have a wife that has been touched by another man... is she not too _tainted _now for your _noble_ standards?"

Darcy's anger was close to boiling point, and he roared. "I TOLD you not to speak of her." He did not trust himself to acknowledge the other allegations.

"You cannot even bear to have me speak her name... how will you cope when she tells you that she was tempted by my offer? I told her that I would give her everything if she would become my mistress. She was close to acquiescing when you found us. I would have tasted the sweetness of another Bennet sister, and taken great pleasure in making her forget you."

Darcy moved quickly across the room, his eyes clouded like a man possessed, his intention to kill the man who slandered his beautiful Elizabeth. Wickham found himself pinned against the wall, his throat held in the iron grip of Darcy. "You could not even satisfy her enough to make her yours. She would have been mine..." Wickham's words were cut off by the tightening of Darcy's hands on his throat, his windpipe restricted. His eyes were filled with a feral excitement - Darcy would kill him, and then he would be tried for murder. It would be Wickham's final revenge... for if he could not have Elizabeth then he would do his best to ensure that Darcy would not either. His money would not save him when he murdered a soldier in his own library. _Come on Darcy_, he thought. _Finish it!_

Every instinct in Darcy demanded that he kill Wickham – to be done with the man once and for all. God knew that Wickham deserved it. His hands pressed down on his enemy's windpipe, his satisfaction rising at the thought of the ultimate vengeance, and at the sight of Wickham's red face as he struggled for breath. In a moment, he would avenge Elizabeth.

_Elizabeth_... Darcy's thoughts moved to his beloved, and the sweetness and loveliness of her suddenly filled his blackened heart. _Fitzwilliam_, her melodious voice spoke. _Let go of him. Do not risk your soul for the likes of Wickham._ His grip immediately relaxed, yet Darcy did not let go, his need for vengeance fighting with his voice of reason. _He hurt you Lizzie. He deserves to die. How can I release him? _His mind responded.

_Do you think I would want you to be a murderer? Do you want to live with this black act for the rest of your life? Wickham will get his punishment... he is not protected by your loyalty any more. _His sanity slowly returned, and Darcy's hands released Wickham, the man sliding to the floor clutching at his neck and gasping for breath.

He shook himself mentally and glanced down at the pathetic figure of the man beneath him. "Coward..." Wickham muttered.

"Perhaps I am a coward, Wickham, if it would be considered brave to kill you. But know this, Wickham, Elizabeth is mine, and her love is my strength. I want you to know that Elizabeth and I owe our happiness... our abiding love... to YOU! Had it not been for your lies and your deceit, your attempts to discredit my character, Elizabeth would have continued to believe that I was as proud and disdainful as she first thought. I would never have had a chance to expose your lies to her... and we should never have been married. I hope that the knowledge that the loveliest woman in the world chose ME instead of YOU keeps you up at night for the rest of your short, miserable life."

Darcy turned on his heel and strode from the library, secure in the knowledge that his eyes would never have to fix upon Wickham again for as long as he lived.

* * *

"Lizzie..." Elizabeth was awakened again by the gentle voice of her sister, Jane, and fought to open her eyes against the inducement of sleep. She had fallen asleep still crying, her eyes now puffy and her emotions fraught.

She looked slowly around her chamber, her eyes resting only briefly on Darcy who hovered next to the bed, before finding Jane's blue-eyed gaze. "Lizzie, I am so happy that you are awake," Jane took her sister's hand and brought it up to her lips, tears filling her eyes with relief that Elizabeth was going to be well. "We were so worried for you – for a time you were in such danger!"

"Jane," Elizabeth managed a smile, truly appreciative of her favourite sister's presence at her side. "I am glad you have come." Elizabeth's hand gripped Jane's more tightly.

"How are you feeling, Lizzie? You look terribly pale. Mrs Reynolds managed to get you to swallow some laudanum an hour past, but if you need more I will fetch it." Jane's cool hand stroked her sister's uninjured cheek.

"I must confess I feel as though I have been trampled by a horse, dear Jane, but it is a dull pain only, and I can bear it." Elizabeth managed to say. She managed to prevent herself from glancing over at Darcy as he began to pace the other side of the room – she could not bring herself to speak to him yet.

"My brave sister! How much you must have gone through, dearest Lizzie!" Jane exclaimed. Her eyes travelled to the other side of the bed and she resolved to include her brother-in-law in the conversation. "When I heard that you were gripped with fever I was devastated, dearest, and Mr Darcy would not leave your side. Is that not so, Sir?" Jane appealed to Mr Darcy.

"It is indeed. Elizabeth, I was so fearful that you would be taken from me, and that I would never have a chance to..." Elizabeth's eyes reluctantly travelled to the other side of the room, where Darcy had taken her hand to make his impassioned speech. She did not look into his eyes however, instead staring at the neck of his shirt, so untidy.

Before he could finish, Elizabeth pulled her hand from his grip, and turned away, his words ceasing as she did so. "It does no good to dwell on what might have happened. I will be well." Elizabeth whispered.

"Elizabeth... what is it?" Darcy questioned in urgent appeal to his wife, to which he was met with silence. He looked at Jane pleading her with his gaze to find out why Elizabeth was being so distant. Jane smiled reassuringly at him as he turned away and then frowned as she looked at Elizabeth's downturned eyes, confusion filling her as she pondered her sister's detachment towards her husband, and his heightened colour as he strode from the room.

"Lizzie, what has happened? Why were you so cold to Mr Darcy just now?" Jane asked with concern, her eyes searching for Elizabeth's gaze.

"It is complicated, Jane," Lizzie sighed, refusing to meet her sister's eyes, for fear that she would confess everything and break down into tears.

"But Lizzie, he was just about to confess his love, I know he was," Jane appealed on behalf of Mr Darcy.

"That cannot be so," Elizabeth whispered, an overwhelming fatigue coming over her again. "I am tired, Jane." No further words were spoken between the sisters as Jane hummed gently and comfortingly stroked Elizabeth's hair as she fell asleep. Jane resolved to speak to Mr Darcy as soon as she could leave her sister alone – all was not well between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, and somehow she would try to make it right between them. That Elizabeth loved Darcy she knew without doubt, and that Mr Darcy loved Elizabeth to distraction was just as certain. _What could have happened to cause this rift between them?_

* * *

"Mr Darcy..." Jane paused outside the door to his library, her gentle mind set on finding some answers. Since the scene in Elizabeth's bedroom a week ago, her sister had refused to see Mr Darcy, and stubbornly resisted all of Jane's attempts to speak of her concerns. Jane sighed worriedly – it was just like Elizabeth to keep her feelings to herself, especially as regarded Mr Darcy – after all, Jane did not even suspect her attachment to the gentleman until _after_ they were engaged.

"Yes?" Darcy's forbidding voice bid Jane enter, and she found herself gasping at his altered appearance. Gone was the immaculately dressed brother-in-law that she had always known. Here, in his place, stood merely a shadow of his former self, his clothes untidy, his hair mussed, his face unshaven, and his eyes anguished.

Mr Darcy glanced around distractedly from where he stood at the window – where his thoughts had been, Jane could not even guess – but an almost passionate air immediately ceased him. Feverishly he jerked forward to stand in front of her, his questions rushing out with urgency.

"Madam, is Elizabeth well? Does she ask for me? Do I need to fetch the doctor?" Jane smiled serenely and impulsively took Mr Darcy's hands with hers.

"Mr Darcy... all is well. Elizabeth is sleeping." His manner calmed, his relief almost palpable in the stifling air of the library. He frowned briefly as he thought of something else.

"She is not alone?"

Jane shook her head in assurance. "Mrs Reynolds sits with her."

"Jane... Mrs Bingley..." Mr Darcy corrected.

"Please Sir, we are family now, you must call me Jane." Jane smiled and with her gentle manner persuaded Mr Darcy to sit down, choosing herself the chair closest that they may continue their conversation.

"Is she... is Elizabeth well?" he asked tentatively. "Do you know why she will not speak to me? Does she blame me for the injustices that she endured?" His eyes pierced intensely and agonisingly into Jane's, his hands wringing together in distress.

Jane paused before answering, knowing that she could give no resolution to the man opposite her. "I wish I knew what troubled her, Mr Darcy. I had thought to solicit your opinion on the matter. I have asked Lizzie, but she refuses to confide in me."

"Oh, what I have reduced her to!" Darcy exclaimed passionately.

"Sir, I have been my sister's closest confidante for our whole lives, and until you entered her life, I would have believed that she would tell me anything. However, I was ignorant of her feelings for _you_ until she announced your engagement. Do not read into this that Lizzie did not feel for you..." Jane hastened to reassure as she noted the start with which he looked up at her words. "I believe that her feelings were _too strong_ for her to know how to manage, and after all that she had believed of you when you first met, she was unable to admit to me how wrong she had been, especially since she believed that you would never wish to renew your addresses to her." Jane took Mr Darcy's hands again into her own and looked at him earnestly. "Elizabeth _loves_ you, of _that_ I have no doubt, and I do not believe that she blames you for what happened. My intuition tells me that this melancholy, this estrangement, stems from something else – something _deeper_, if you will. And since she will not confide in me, and is acting so to you, I believe that it must be that you are at the root. Forgive my forwardness, but please tell me, Mr Darcy, had something happened between you and my sister _prior_ to her capture?"

Mr Darcy moaned in distress as he heard and comprehended Jane's words. He had not even considered that Elizabeth could be more distressed regarding his conduct and their argument _before_ Wickham had taken her, than what had occurred since. Yet how little he could grasp the workings of the female mind, and in particular that of his wilful Elizabeth. All memories of their argument had flown from his own mind as soon as she had been taken, as he assumed they would have been from hers, especially after being abused and almost losing her life. Mr Darcy looked at Jane and confessed all, telling her all of the circumstances and all of the facts that had forced them to arrive at this place. "I must go to her and explain," Darcy exclaimed, his mind now convinced that this was the root of Elizabeth's disengagement.

Jane listened calmly, her astonishment growing at the tale, her mind marvelling that such a misunderstanding had occurred. She knew her sister, and she was coming to know Mr Darcy, and though they were passionately in love, it was a love that was destroying them both through wilful stubbornness. She did not comment though, her heart in fact soaring that Elizabeth loved and was loved with such an overruling passion. Instead she enquired. "You said you wrote her letters?" At his nod, she continued. "Why not give my sister the letters first? At least she cannot turn you away before you have a chance to explain. And then let us hope that her feelings have softened towards you when you go to her."

Mr Darcy rose from his chair and hurriedly moved to his desk, extracting the very letters of which they had been speaking.

Please review!


	24. Chapter 24

_Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Here is the next chapter - hope you enjoy! Thanks to my BETA, Gayle!_

**Chapter 24**

It was midnight by the time Mr Darcy had worked up enough courage to go to Elizabeth's room. All afternoon Jane's words had been gnawing at him, and Darcy found himself replaying every moment of his interaction with his wife since the dreaded threats had first arrived. With the advantage of hindsight, Darcy wondered how he had ever thought that keeping the threats from Elizabeth was a good idea – he should have known that she would react strongly – yet just how much her faith in him would be shaken, he could not have guessed.

He clutched the letters in sweaty hands as he slipped into Elizabeth's room and glanced at Jane who sat serenely on a chair in the corner of the room, embroidery in hand.

"How is she?" he murmured to Jane, as she moved to the door. His eyes did not leave Elizabeth's person as he awaited Jane's gentle response.

"She refused to take her laudanum tonight, and I fear that she was in pain. She is asleep now." Jane squeezed Darcy's shoulder. "It is painful to see her thus, is it not?" Darcy could merely nod, not able to trust himself to speak with the lump that had lodged in his throat. Jane quietly left the room, trusting Darcy to watch over her sister through the long night ahead.

Darcy put the letters on Elizabeth's dresser and moved over to the bed, his eyes fixed on his wife's sleeping form. Gently he brushed the hair from her flushed face, smoothing the dark strands from her cheek, and was relieved that her bruises seemed to be fading. His heart clenched when he noticed the dried tear tracks on her pale skin. "I pray that these letters will make you understand, Lizzie! My beautiful wife, please understand!"

* * *

Darcy was awakened a few short hours later, his neck stiff from sleeping askew in the hard backed chair. He immediately jumped to his feet when he saw that Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back facing him, a sorrowful sob escaping her. Darcy came around to the other side of the bed and knelt in front of his wife, aching in grief when he saw the tears that ran unchecked down her cheeks.

"Elizabeth, sweetheart, you are safe..." he crooned, attempting to take both of Elizabeth's shaking hands from her lap.

"No..." Elizabeth's eyes were wild and unfocused as she looked at him, and Darcy guessed that she was still half asleep, obviously in the midst of a nightmare. "Do not come near me... Fitzwilliam will find me... he _will_... he _will_!" She screamed the words in utter distress, resisting all of Darcy's attempts to comfort her. Elizabeth moved quickly for someone in her condition, and before he was able to stop her, she was standing beside the bed, trying to get away from the perceived threat. Darcy reached her side just in time to catch Elizabeth as her weakened legs buckled beneath her.

He swept her up into his arms, shocked by the lightness of her person, such a change wrought in such a short time. Darcy made a mental note to himself to speak to Mrs Reynolds about Elizabeth's nutritional needs. Elizabeth was twisting in his grasp, her hands pushing at his chest and pulling his hair, moaning as her futile attempts to escape him continued to be in vain. "I do not care how he treated me! He _does love me_... he _does_... you cannot make me believe that he does not..." Her words were frenzied, and Darcy knew that she still dreamed.

"Shhhh, sweetheart." Darcy sat on the bed, and cradled his wife in his arms like a child, rocking her gently. "It is Fitzwilliam. You are safe... at Pemberley. I am here and I love you." He tucked his chin under so that his face rested against Elizabeth's forehead, his warm lips caressing her skin. He prayed that he could get through to her before she harmed herself further.

"Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth spoke hopefully, her voice childlike in its innocence. Her brown eyes gazed up at him, and she ceased her struggle in his arms, lying passively within his embrace, finally recognising who held her.

"Yes, my love... You are in my arms... I _never _want to let you go again!" His lips travelled to her heavy eyelids and kissed the tears that leaked from their corners, lost in the knowledge that his Elizabeth welcomed his comfort... for this moment she was not pushing him away.

"Fitzwilliam..." Elizabeth sighed, her mind yet trapped in a dreamlike state. Her lips managed to capture the corner of Darcy's beloved mouth as it continued the exceptionally gentle exploration of her face.

Their lips met for a tender kiss... no less passionate for its softness. Lips clung together for what seemed an infinite period of time, as though welded together, neither deepening the embrace, yet neither willing to break the contact. When the kiss ended, Elizabeth murmured her pleasure with the closeness and even though she was injured, in her half-asleep condition, she did not feel any pain. Her uninjured hand came to rest on Darcy's chest and then travelled downwards, slipping under the loosened shirt and running over his warm skin. "So warm," she murmured, resting her head over Darcy's heart and listening to the strength of the beat.

Her lips moved upwards and brushed against his neck. "Lizzie..." Darcy groaned, resisting with every scrap of control that he possessed. "My love, you are not well. We cannot..."

"Fitzwilliam... do you not want me?" Elizabeth asked with a pout, her eyes filling with tears, even as her lips travelled up to his stubbly cheek. "Always..." Darcy groaned, restraining himself from moving his hands from their careful hold around her.

"Scratchy..." Elizabeth whispered as her lips kissed his cheek and then the corner of his mouth.

"I am sorry, Lizzie," Darcy apologised, running one hand over his unshaven chin. "I have been too worried about you to bother myself with shaving." One finger made its way to Elizabeth's collarbone and stroked the length, and Darcy watched with fascination as the pale skin erupted with goosebumps, and her pulse fluttered quickly.

"Kiss me..." Elizabeth demanded softly, as her lips came up to meet his, moving passionately over the softness of his lips, and Darcy could resist no longer, meeting her kiss with ardent response. He somehow managed to control his hands, always considerate of his wife's injuries, and when she pulled back and rested her head on his chest, Darcy moved his lips to her hair and face, soothing her with gentle kisses as she calmed. He murmured his love for her and smiled as Elizabeth sighed in response.

After some time Elizabeth whispered almost inaudibly. "Please do not leave me... please hold me." Darcy was only too willing to comply, rejoicing that Elizabeth wanted him... if only for this moment.

And for the first time in more weeks than he cared to remember, Mr Darcy slept with Elizabeth in his arms, her head resting trustingly on his shoulder, their hands clasped against his chest.

* * *

The mastermind stared at the note in hand, reading the unwelcomed news again. Elizabeth Bennet was not dead... somehow that interloper had survived and was even now protected at Pemberley. The mastermind had underestimated the country girl's strength... what other woman could survive such an ordeal? The mastermind sighed... it was unclear yet what Elizabeth's injuries were... perhaps she would still perish. _One can only hope!_ the mastermind thought.

Now all of the well-placed sources of information were lost to the mastermind. Wickham had been taken to Lambton to await trial, and Harvey and his men had already been sentenced and shipped to the Americas, no doubt through the influence of Colonel Fitzwilliam... the interfering man. Now, Catherine had disappeared from the face of the earth, and the mastermind could not be bothered to try to find the girl. The empire of the mastermind was falling around her.

The mastermind sighed with relief at the thought of how close she had come to discovery. If she had posted the letter of condolence to Mr Darcy, he would have been suspicious... if not certain... of the mastermind's identity. Then there would be nothing left to hope for.

The mastermind knew that now her information would have to come from legitimate sources... someone who was close to the Darcy family. She had the perfect someone in mind, and luckily, she had enough connection with that someone to appear legitimate in her enquiries.

Already the plans were forming in her mind... the first, to effectively silence George Wickham, and the second, to turn Elizabeth Bennet against her husband forever.

* * *

When Mr Darcy woke to the sound of a quiet knock at the door, Elizabeth was still snuggled deeply in his arms. He reluctantly removed his arms from around her, wishing that the night could have lasted forever, and stood up, as Doctor Winters came into the room with Jane. "How is my patient this morning? Mrs Bingley informed me that Mrs Darcy refused her laudanum last night." Doctor Winters regarded Elizabeth still asleep on the bed.

"She had a nightmare last night, Doctor Winters. She tried to get out of bed, but I caught her before she came to any harm. At the time, she did not complain of pain to me; however, I think she was not fully awake. Should I insist on her taking the laudanum, Doctor?"

"It is a good sign that the lady is refusing laudanum, Sir. It must mean that her pain is becoming tolerable. Let us hope that she soon regains her spirits. If you do not mind leaving us Mr Darcy, I will proceed with my examination." Mr Darcy acquiesced, but before leaving the room, he ensured that his letters were still on Elizabeth's dresser waiting to be opened.

* * *

Elizabeth was confused. The doctor had just left her alone with Jane... Darcy was nowhere to be seen. She had experienced a wonderful dream last night... one where her husband had held her and kissed her and slept in her embrace all night. Yet Elizabeth could remember no pain, and had it been real, she surely would remember the tremendous pain that even now filled her shoulder and ribs. How Elizabeth was tempted to take the dose of laudanum that sat on her dresser, left behind with the doctors supplies for her recovery.

Jane saw her sister's eyes rest on the laudanum. "Lizzie, if you are in pain, you must take it."

"No, Jane, I do not enjoy the effects that it has on me. I want to be myself again." She moved gingerly, attempting to find a comfortable position for her injured shoulder. "How long will it be until my shoulder heals?" Elizabeth asked her sister.

"Doctor Winters believes that you will be able to use your shoulder again in another two weeks, but that it will be another four after that until it regains most of its strength. Do you want me to find Mr Darcy? He is always lingering nearby... I am sure that he would want to see you." Jane meant well, but even hearing his name tore holes into Elizabeth's heart.

"No, Jane," Elizabeth spoke firmly, her spirits fading.

"But Lizzie... _why? _Your husband loves you. You cannot imagine how devastated he was when he thought you might die..."

"Oh, Jane, of course he would be sad. He is not _totally_ devoid of human emotion or I never could have married him." Elizabeth blew out a frustrated breath and sank back into the pillows.

"Lizzie, why must you be so stubborn? You are hurting him with your indifference - how can you bear to cause the man you love so much pain?" Jane took Elizabeth's hands in sisterly appeal, but Elizabeth found that she could not meet her eyes.

"Jane, you cannot understand. My marriage is not the same as yours. I thought that Fitzwilliam loved me when we married, but he has proved time and time again that the bloom has worn off the rose." Tears pooled in her eyes as she spoke, and bitterness entered her tone. "He might be acting the part of caring for me now... yet, I cannot trust that he will not turn away from me again once I have recovered."

"Lizzie, you do not know how wrong you are – you say you love him, yet you have no faith in him. I spoke to Mr Darcy... and he has a sound expla..." Jane's entreaty was abruptly cut off by Elizabeth's angry words, her eyes flashing fire at her sister, as she roughly pulled her hands away.

"How _could_ you speak to _him_ about _me _Jane? How could you say that I have no faith in him. Mr Darcy has betrayed me, your _sister_, yet you believe _him_. How _could_ you take _his side_?" Tears streamed down her cheeks, her words sounding between sobs.

"Lizzie, please... it is not like that..." Jane begged softly.

"Just go!" Elizabeth whispered, as she turned her face away from her sister. "Just GET OUT and leave me be. I do not want to see you anymore... you or _anyone_." Borne of heartbreak and her false sense of betrayal, Elizabeth reacted with abnormal sensitivity. She could not bear the thought that her beloved sister and Mr Darcy were discussing her behind her back, or that Jane thought her heartless and faithless... she could not bear the idea that Darcy might succeed in making Jane believe that he had done nothing wrong and that their estrangement was all Elizabeth's fault.

Jane begged and pleaded with her sister to reconsider, tears pouring down her own cheeks at her carelessness, and when Elizabeth would not relent, Jane left the room. She should not have taken Darcy's side... not when her sister's emotions and injuries were so raw. And now, Elizabeth wanted to be alone. How could her situation be resolved if she would not let anybody near her?

* * *

Catherine alighted from the coach, dusty and weary from days of travel. Tears came to her eyes as she pondered the fact that her life would never be the same again... she would never return to England. She touched her still flat stomach and then gathered her spirits, looking around for her Aunt Sarah. She had sent a note to her aunt in Scotland before leaving Pemberley, informing her of a much delayed visit. Catherine had been invited every year for the past five years but had never been in a position to accept the kind offer. Now... it seemed she had nowhere else to go.

Mrs Reynolds believed that Catherine had gone to tend to a dying relation and did not expect her return in the near future. Nobody could trace her here.

Catherine had posted a letter to the master of Pemberley at a stop along the journey. She hoped that he would receive it within the week, and that all would be put to rights. Catherine smiled as her buxom aunt pulled her into a warm hug and knew that she would be safe.

* * *

"Doctor Winters, have you spoken to her?" Jane rushed to the doctor's side as he came out of Elizabeth's room, Darcy close behind her.

"I have." Doctor Winters looked grave. He had been called back to see Mrs Darcy before he quit Pemberley, although he had already examined her that morning.

"What do you think?" Darcy asked, wringing his hands together in distress. "Surely, we cannot leave her alone to recover? Would she not do better with people that love her by her side?" he questioned anxiously.

"Mr Darcy, Mrs Bingley, I am afraid that Mrs Darcy is insistent. She does not want either of you to come near her during her recovery. She was most distressed when we spoke of it and would not expound on the subject. Whatever caused her to act like this?"

"A misunderstanding..." Jane murmured softly, eyes filled with a deep remorse. "Can I not go to her and try to explain?"

"I am sorry, Mrs Bingley. I believe that Mrs Darcy's recovery will be more effective if she remains calm and avoids becoming upset. I know that it will be hard, but many victims of violence react this way while they are recovering. If you leave her alone, I believe that she will come around. In the meantime, her servants can tend her."

* * *

Mr Darcy strode powerfully across the grounds of Pemberley, needing to escape for a while the oppression that his home had become. It was his own fault, he knew that, but he could not bear the thought that he had hurt his beloved so profoundly that she was now refusing to see either him or her own treasured sister. So now, he had guilt of the emotional sorrow of two beautiful ladies on his hands.

Darcy's head pounded, thoughts whirling like tempests in his mind, desperately searching for a way to make everything better. The stillness of the lake drew him to its cool edges, and before Darcy could think better of it, he undressed until he wore nothing but his breeches and shirt. He dove into the lake and swam across it with powerful strokes, the muscles in his broad back rippling with the exercise.

For a time, Darcy's tormented thoughts were quietened as he exhausted his body with the strenuous activity. For how long he swam, Darcy was not aware. He only knew that when he finally moved to the bank of the lake, his muscles ached, and the sky had darkened overhead.

Panting, Darcy propelled himself out of the water and sat on the grassy bank, staring up into the sky, allowing his thoughts to penetrate his mind again. It was then that a plan formed in his mind.

* * *

Some time later, Darcy entered his library to find his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam awaiting him.

"Darcy, where have you been? I was afraid that you had gone off and gotten yourself killed!" the colonel joked, his attempt at joviality achieving little to reduce the tension in the room. Darcy dismissed the joke.

"Fitzwilliam... I hope all went well with settling Wickham into his new quarters at Lambton Prison?" he asked, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. "I expected that you would return days ago."

"Wickham is safely in his cell. I was obliged to travel to London to speak with the magistrate who will be trying Wickham's case. He will be removed from Lambton to travel to London with an armed guard in the next few weeks and will stand trial there. We may be required to give evidence against him... Elizabeth too..." the colonel spoke the last part quietly, knowing that his cousin would not react well to the news.

"Elizabeth is not well enough. She cannot be expected to testify against the man. It could only set her recovery back," Darcy growled, always protective of his love.

"I know, Darcy. It may not come to that, and Elizabeth would have to agree in any case." He stood and paced the room, before turning back to his cousin. "How is Elizabeth?"

Darcy sighed, and motioned for his cousin to sit down. He proceeded to explain Elizabeth's recovery and her dampened spirits, followed by her refusal to see any of them. Colonel Fitzwilliam felt his stomach sinking at the tale... knowing that he was partly to blame for his new cousin's emotional state. If only he had encouraged Darcy to confide in Elizabeth when the notes had first arrived... none of this could have happened.

"Fitzwilliam..." Darcy spoke decidedly. "I decided this afternoon to purchase a small estate close to Pemberley."

"Whatever for, Darcy?" the colonel exclaimed.

"For Elizabeth! Fitzwilliam, I intend to settle the estate on Lizzie, and she may choose to do with it what she likes. I do not know if she will ever forgive me, cousin, and if she chooses her freedom, I do not know how I can survive. But I cannot be so selfish as to keep her here if she will be miserable. I love her enough to let her go if that will make her happy; yet, I know not how I could bear to be away from her."

"You have to tell her that you love her, Darcy. You cannot let Elizabeth go until you have explained everything," Colonel Fitzwilliam cautioned.

"I do not intend to, Fitzwilliam; do you think I am daft?" Darcy asked. "Elizabeth has my letters as I speak. But if she will not forgive me for putting her through all that, she may well choose to use the estate to live in. If she does not, she can settle it on our children, or do with it what she will. I just want to give her the option; the estate will be something of her very own. I have heard that Covington Manor is up for sale, would you be able to make some enquiries for me, cousin?"

"Of course Darcy, if you wish it. But it is very close, are you sure you could bear to have Elizabeth living that nearby IF she chose to leave Pemberley?"

"At least I would not lose her completely, Fitzwilliam. And I would be able to watch over her and take care of her. I think Covington Manor would be the best choice."

_Please review!_


	25. Chapter 25

_Thanks to all my awesome reviewers and readers. I am glad that this story is bringing so many people happiness (although maybe that is the wrong word). Please persevere - the reunion is just around the corner. As always thanks to Gayle for her invaluable help with making my story what it is. Please read and review!_

**Chapter 25**

The mastermind smiled serenely at her travelling companion. Georgiana Darcy had no idea what she had in store for her brother and his interloping wife. If she did, the mastermind was sure that Georgiana would have nothing to do with her plot to travel together from London to Pemberley. Georgiana adored Elizabeth, and the mastermind had been careful to hide her malicious feelings while speaking of Darcy and his wife in her presence. She had been staying with Georgiana in the Darcy's London home for the past few weeks, awaiting an opportunity to suggest the visit to Pemberley.

Elizabeth was still alive, and finally a letter from Darcy had come, asking Georgiana to come to Pemberley in an attempt to lift her spirits. He had also agreed for the mastermind to accompany his sister, as he did not want to deprive the ladies of their visit.

_It was perfect_, the mastermind thought, trying to overcome her excitement and refrain from laughing aloud. Her plan was only half-formed, but somehow she would try to get Elizabeth alone and convince her that Darcy had a mistress. The woman was nothing but a country girl, and from the times that the mastermind had spoken to her, she imagined that Elizabeth would be devastated, hopefully enough that she would leave Pemberley and never return.

And then, the mastermind would have nothing left to stand in her way. Wickham would be taken care of, and Elizabeth would be gone, leaving a grieving Darcy open for her manipulations. It might take time, but the mastermind knew that she would eventually win.

* * *

Mr Wickham felt the sickening lurch of his stomach as the carriage set off. After spending three weeks in the Lambton gaol, he should have been glad to be leaving the place. He had sent urgent correspondence to the mastermind of the plot that had proven his downfall. He assured her that he had revealed nothing of her involvement. Surely, she owed him a defence and her support. Yet still he had heard nothing, and now he was on his way to face trial, where he would surely be sentenced to the gallows for his crimes.

His anger churned deep within himself, borne of three long weeks of expecting for her to have him rescued. He may not have killed Elizabeth, but he had done everything that she had asked of him, and it was because of her vindictive plot that Wickham now faced death.

_Well, we will see about that_, Wickham vowed to himself, glaring at the guard sitting opposite him in the carriage. _The magistrate will be very interested to hear who it was funding this little plot. _Wickham formed a plan in his mind – he would ask for lenience in return for his information. After all, she was worth a hundred times more than him, and he refused to die for someone who had betrayed him. If he had to die at all, SHE would be damned with him.

* * *

_Click on the link to hear the background music for this scene: Will not let me post the link - for those who want to listen and read at the same time go to youtube and place this in the search box pYFZOG0yBi8 then click on the link._

It had been just over four weeks since the accident. Elizabeth had not seen or spoken to her sister or her husband for almost three weeks now, staying in her room for her meals and growing stronger by the day. A few times either Jane or Darcy had attempted to enter her chamber, but Elizabeth had continually ordered them out, thankful for the doctor's orders that she be kept calm.

Now Elizabeth could stay in her room no longer – she craved the sight of something besides the four walls of her room, her natural love of being active urging her on. Her shoulder was less painful now; she was able to leave it out of the sling for a few hours at a time before the ache would force her to support it once again. Her ribs were healing well, the bruises mostly faded, and the pain reduced to a dull ache when she moved.

Yet on the first day that Elizabeth found the physical and emotional strength to leave her room and come below stairs, the effort taxed her weakened body. Her mind was numb... with the effort of first, resisting all of her husband's endeavours to come to speak to her, and second, forcing herself to stop wishing for him to take her in his arms... and it drained her already battered heart.

She went to the music room and sat down at the piano, testing her shoulder and arm on a few light notes. And when there was only the slightest twinge of a dull ache, Elizabeth started to play.

Her fingers moved expertly over the ivory keys of the pianoforte, her face pale as she let the familiar music flow into expression. Elizabeth played softly, privately, craving her own place to escape to for a time, where she would not have to dwell on the situation with her husband.

Elizabeth attempted to pour every emotion into her playing... unleashing her broken spirits into the music, as if it would somehow offer her a haven. Elizabeth could never have imagined during her life at Longbourn that she would ever be capable of loving another to this degree – her greatest hope in those days had been to respect and love her chosen partner, but her good sense had told Elizabeth that she would never love so deeply that it had the potential to destroy her. These were the emotions that she poured into her playing, at that moment more talented with the expression of her deepest emotion than she had ever before had cause to be – the chords of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata haunting as her sadness flowed through her fingers.

Mr Darcy was drawn to the music room by the sounds of the beautiful piece. Uncertain of whom he would find when he reached the room, he stifled a gasp at the sight of Elizabeth seated at the pianoforte, her back straight and facing away from him. He found himself unable to enter the room, for fear of disturbing the beauty of the scene. Instead, Mr Darcy stood at the door, one shoulder resting against its heavy frame, unnoticed by Elizabeth as she played, moved to indescribable emotion by the tormenting sound and the sight of the wife that he yearned for with increasing desperation.

His mind wandered to an occasion that now seemed so long ago when Elizabeth had played for him in this very room, and for long moments he had sat across the room from her, his heart full as he admired his lovely wife.

_Elizabeth sat at the piano stool, in a gown of mint green, her figure elegant as her fingers poured over the keys. Her rich voice sang melodiously, her face glowing and eyes shining as she occasionally glanced across the room at him, knowing that her performance was just for him. Her brown eyes were filled with sparkling warmth, cheeks heating as she noticed the ardent looks coming from Darcy._

_Elizabeth was magnificent! Poised in everything she did, his wife was one of a kind. Darcy watched her from his seat and let the music flow over him, enjoying the novelty of a private performance. His desire would not abate as he gazed on enticingly flushed cheeks and the usual mischievous smile. Darcy found that he could abide it no longer – he could not sit passively across the other side of the room – when all he desired was to be near her. He stood and moved towards her, as if he were floating, stopping at the other side of the instrument as he gazed down at Elizabeth – the softness of her breasts rising and falling as she continued to sing, her luminous eyes moving to his own as she gazed up at him. For a moment Darcy stood there, smiling as Elizabeth cast her gaze modestly downwards. "Beautiful," he breathed, as he moved around the piano to stand behind his wife... not touching her, yet close enough so that he could feel the heat radiating from her back. _

_He gently picked up one of the loose curls that adorned her elegant white neck, the touch as light as a feather – so that it would have been unnoticeable had Elizabeth's body not been so attuned to Darcy's. Her pulse fluttered in indescribable arousal, the feelings still so new to her. It was merely a whisper of a sensation on the back of her neck, but the silent presence and the anticipation of Darcy's touch, caused her breaths to come in quick pants. She stopped singing suddenly, and her neck dropped forward of its own volition, unconsciously urging Darcy to continue. "What are you doing?" Elizabeth breathed unsteadily, as his warm cheek brushed against her neck. She heard the sound of his deep inhalation of breath, as Darcy breathed in her scent. Elizabeth's eyes glazed over with passion._

_Somehow, Elizabeth forced her fingers to continue to manipulate the piano keys, and the music continued, albeit slower and with less fluidity. Darcy finally noticed that she had stopped singing and he commented on it. "Why did you stop singing?" he asked huskily as he lifted his face from her neck where his breath and lips had been ever so softly tantalizing the soft skin beneath. He rested his warm hands on her shoulders now instead, his fingers straying to stroke the sensitive skin of her exposed collarbones, and feeling the unmistakable fluttering of her pulse at the touch. _

"_You distracted me," Elizabeth stopped playing and turned her face and stared into Darcy's eyes, the pupils darkened with passion and awe, her every sense tuned to the havoc he was creating with his fingers. _

"_Don't stop..." he whispered gently, his warm breath at her ear, sending surges of pleasure over Elizabeth's entire body, so that she wanted nothing more than to forget the music and let her husband educate her in the exploration of her desire. _

_Shakily, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, her cheeks suffused with a deep rose colour. She recommenced her song with great difficulty, her voice sounding deep and breathy as she continued. She felt Darcy's body nudge her over as he sat beside her on the bench, one leg on each side so that he could stare at her profile in adoring fascination, devouring her with his gaze. Elizabeth did not know at that moment whether to be glad or sorry that Darcy had commissioned the construction of the newest piano stool design, one that two people could sit on in order to play a duet. She could feel the piercing intensity of Darcy's eyes, and feel the warmth of his hands like a brand on her skin even though he did not touch her. _

_Somehow, Elizabeth finished the song, her chest heaving as her fingers finally paused on the keys, her relief palpable in the sudden silence. In the moment that followed, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing within the music room, each trying to stem the passionate response to the others proximity. "Fitzwilliam... how do you expect..." Elizabeth began to admonish, turning to look into his eyes, but her voice trailed off as she caught the intensity of his darkened gaze. The force of his eyes upon her triggered again the most intense feelings of desire in Elizabeth, stronger now that she had merely the anticipation of his touch than when he had been actually touching her._

"_Breathtaking," Darcy whispered as she turned to face him, eyes downcast for fear of exposing her overwhelming passion. Darcy's eyes were fixed on Elizabeth's heated lips, his every thought of her and for her._

"_How do you do this to me?" Elizabeth breathed as she looked up into adoring eyes, her own body trembling with need. Darcy merely raised a teasing eyebrow and smiled wickedly at his wife, moved by the depth of her longing which she was unable to hide. For Elizabeth the enticement was too great, her entire being seduced by the passion with which he stared and her reaction to it. In a moment she was in his arms, her lips pressed against his in a passionate embrace, her arms twined around his strong neck, as if she would never let go. _

_Darcy felt his heart swell as he caught Elizabeth up into his strong arms, his lips progressing from her mouth to the back of her ear and moving ever so slowly down to the frantic pulse at the base of her neck. Then, when passion threatened to cause him to lose control, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bedchamber, where he showed Elizabeth exactly where such passion could lead._

Mr Darcy's eyes were glazed over with desire as he relived the scene, his then energetic wife so open and witty and responsive. Looking at her now, Darcy could see nothing of that Elizabeth, excepting her elegance and serenity as she sat at the pianoforte. Her dress hung loosely about her frame, shoulder bones prominent, her body giving off an air of delicacy, as if she would be knocked over by a gentle breeze. Her skin, once tanned, was now pale, and Darcy knew that if he looked into her brown eyes, the sparkle would be diminished – at least when she looked upon him.

Darcy yearned for the Elizabeth of a few months ago – he would do anything to have spared her this pain – he blamed himself for marrying her and subjecting her to this. He should have left her alone after she had refused his proposal in Kent, even though he could no longer imagine living without her. Then she would still be the vibrant woman that he knew she should be. Elizabeth was meant to laugh... yet he had made her cry.

The haunting music continued, and Darcy knew that he could bear it no longer. He could stand by no more and be forced to watch Elizabeth's torture. By now she would have read the letters that he had written during the time before her capture – she would know his motivation for distancing himself from her – and that he had always wanted to protect her. She had refused to see him for long enough, but now that she was recovering, he would not allow her to evade him any longer. This time he would make Elizabeth talk to him – he would make her forgive him for everything that he had done, even though, God knew he did not deserve it. He walked slowly over to the instrument, his breath hitching as the music suddenly ceased, as Elizabeth became aware that her haven had been breached.

He moved quickly now, breathing erratic and in a few seconds he was behind Elizabeth, his arms encircling her tiny waist as he buried his face into her neck. "Elizabeth..." he began unsteadily.

Elizabeth was astonished when his arms came around her. Moments ago she had been imagining that they were happy, that none of these sufferings had ever tested the strength of their love. Her mind whirled as she allowed him to hold her, not encouraging, but not yet pulling away. Tears streaked down pale cheeks, the emotional upheaval of the music and now with Darcy holding her, almost too much to bear. That he felt something for her, Elizabeth could no longer doubt, but her despondency would not allow her to think rationally about his behaviour. She had been a woman scorned, and Elizabeth was willing to risk anything rather than risk that occurring again – how would she survive it if Darcy broke her heart again? Her mind lingered on the ball which seemed so long ago now, when her own husband had refused to kiss her in the garden. No, she could not chance his rejection again. Her pride would not allow it. Her heart could not withstand it.

"Stop..." Elizabeth whispered brokenly.

"Elizabeth, please..." Darcy pleaded, feeling movement as Elizabeth tried to pull out of his grasp. _Would she ever forgive him? _"You must have read the letters?" he groaned.

"I am not aware of any letters, Sir! But I cannot let you hurt me again." The words were almost inaudible, yet Darcy heard them as if they had been shouted in the silent room. He pulled back and turned away as Elizabeth hurried from the room, his thoughts tormented as she retreated. He sat down on the bench so recently vacated by his wife. _She had not read the letters then_. Darcy wondered what could have become of them and resolved to find out as soon as possible.

* * *

Before Mr Darcy was able to follow his wife, his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam was announced. Having made enquiries about Covington Manor, the colonel had requested that Darcy ride out to the property a few days previous to inspect it, with the assurance that the house was perfect for his intended purpose.

Darcy had found the house most pleasing, light and spacious, the kind of place that he could see Elizabeth admiring. He could never see it as her home though, for Elizabeth irrevocably belonged at Pemberley – Darcy could hardly countenance the thought that she might choose to reside away from it. He had requested his cousin to see to the purchase of Covington Manor and was ready to sign the papers this very day.

"But are you sure, Darcy?" the colonel questioned as Darcy looked over the papers, his quill at the ready. "You are sure that this is what you want? To have Elizabeth living separately from you."

Darcy exploded, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape and getting to his feet.

"OF _COURSE it's not what I WANT_!" He ground out, his anger palpable, as his cousin's eyes widened at the uncharacteristic display of temper. "What I WANT is for this never to have happened, to be at liberty to kiss, touch and even _speak_ to my wife; to not have had to watch her suffer in silence for my quarrel with Wickham; to have her come to me and tell me that she forgives me... so that there is no need for this... this..." Darcy flicked his wrist towards the paper on his desk, "...this travesty. Fitzwilliam, I cannot even fathom the concept that my Elizabeth MAY choose to live there; but, she seems disinclined to even be in the same room with me, and I shudder at the thought that she will accept this opportunity to leave me." Darcy ran out of steam, his hands resting against the table as his head bowed down and his body leaned over his desk. He shook his head sorrowfully, and his apology came out as a moan. "I am sorry cousin, you do not deserve my anger. I am afraid that I have just now suffered another rejection from Elizabeth. She would not even remain in my presence for more than a few minutes."

"Darcy... it pains me to see you torture yourself this way - Elizabeth, too! She will not want to live in Covington Manor, and I fear that if you present it to her as an option, she will misunderstand. You must make her understand everything that has happened, and ONLY present it to her as an option IF she tells you that she cannot stay."

"I know, Fitzwilliam. I will be speaking to Elizabeth as soon as we have finished here. I had already resolved to make her listen to me when you arrived." Darcy sat back down at his desk and picked up the discarded quill, adding his signature to the documents which outlined his intent to purchase the property. He handed the original copy to the colonel and watched as he placed it carefully in his coat pocket as he placed his copy in his top drawer.

"If you are certain, then cousin, I will arrange the transfer into your ownership as soon as possible?"

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam." Darcy held out his hand and shook his cousin's across the desk, a gesture of appreciation for all of his help.

Just as Colonel Fitzwilliam was preparing to depart, a tentative knock sounded at the door and on Darcy's bidding to enter, he was surprised to see that Mrs Reynolds stood before him, looking nervous and uncertain.

"Mr Darcy, Sir, I have come to speak to you on a matter that I believe is of some importance," the housekeeper ventured softly.

"Mrs Reynolds, please sit down and tell me what this is about." Darcy spoke gently to her, taking his seat again once his housekeeper was settled across from him.

"It is just that I received this letter from Catherine, the mistress's maid. You remember that she said she had left Pemberley to visit a relation who was ill?" Darcy nodded, and Mrs Reynolds continued.

"She posted this letter to me almost two weeks ago, yet the directions were written so ill that it did not arrive until today. I am afraid that her writing is very poor, and I would do better to give you a summary of the contents, so that you need not try to decipher it if you do not wish to." Mrs Reynolds placed the letter on the desk in front of her so that Mr Darcy could review it at his leisure should he feel it necessary. "It appears that Catherine did not go to visit a relative who was ill, she removed herself to Scotland to live with an aunt. She is with child – Mr Wickham is the father that she has named; however, she begs that we do not let her whereabouts be known."

Darcy moaned in despair, his head dropping to his hands, before he remembered himself and composed himself. "She should have been protected in my household. How did the blackguard get to her?"

"Catherine writes nothing further about the child, but I am very concerned about the other accusation. She apologised for helping Mr Wickham by giving him information about you and the mistress, but she begs that you believe that she did not know what they planned. She did say that Mr Wickham did not want Mrs Darcy to be hurt, but that he was ordered to kill her by someone else."

Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward, and both men demonstrated a powerful reaction to the information, Darcy poised as if ready to attack the unknown perpetrator that very moment. "Who?" they each exclaimed, eyes wide with expectation.

"She does not say the lady's name. However she says that it is her former mistress, and I am afraid to say that her former mistress resides at Rosings Park. Catherine worked for your aunt prior to her employment here." Mrs Reynolds pointed to the place where Catherine had alluded to the woman who had planned the scheme. Darcy quickly read the scrawl and looked up in shock at his cousin as the words sunk in. _Lady Catherine working with Wickham? Lady Catherine ordering Elizabeth to be killed? _Mr Darcy could hardly credit it. Yet it must be true! And if the woman was capable of such despicable acts, then she was capable of trying to ensure that her plans were concluded to her satisfaction – with Elizabeth's death.

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds. Please have Thomas prepare my clothing for a short trip to Rosings. I intend to ride. I wish to leave within the hour." Mrs Reynolds curtsied towards the master as she quit the room to do his bidding.

"What shall you do when you arrive, Darcy?" the colonel asked, his face pale from his continued shock.

"I shall see what she has to say for herself, and then I shall call the magistrate. It could be no-one else but her, Fitzwilliam. She has disliked Elizabeth from the first and probably seeks to make Anne my wife when she has succeeded in removing her predecessor. I would not have believed this if I did not have written proof before my very eyes. This maid has no reason to lie to us now that Wickham is arrested, and I believe that she assisted in all innocence, not knowing what evil they had planned."

"I shall come with you, Darcy. Bingley can guard the women and ensure that Elizabeth is safe. At any rate, she is not likely to venture out of the house while she is still recovering, so she will be well supervised. I believe all of the danger is at Rosings, in the form of our Aunt Catherine."

"Thank you, cousin. I may have need of you."

* * *

Elizabeth could still feel the warmth of Darcy's arms around her, his agonised cry, his breath on her neck. She hugged her arms around herself as she sat in the window seat, knees drawn up to her chest. Tears slowly ran down her cheeks, and Elizabeth found that she despised herself and what she had become. Slowly, she had become a woman who did not laugh or smile, pushed away everyone around her, and let her pride dominate her emotions. She had been so cruel to Darcy regarding his misplaced pride, yet now Elizabeth felt that she was in danger of allowing her life to be ruined due to her own.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a quick stride in the hallway, and then the forceful opening of her door. Elizabeth looked around and gasped when she saw Darcy standing before her, dressed in riding gear, his expression formidable, and his gaze fixed on her. "Fitzwilliam..." she breathed his name, and her heart jumped as he quickly strode towards her, his hand taking her uninjured arm and pulling her to her feet.

He said nothing; instead, Darcy let his actions speak for him, and running his hands up the back of Elizabeth's neck to tangle through her mussed up curls, he held her still, while his lips crashed down upon hers in a kiss of desperate need and longing. Tongues entangled in the passionate exchange, and Darcy was elated when Elizabeth's fingers ran through his curls in an attempt to bring him closer.

When the kiss finally ended, Darcy and Elizabeth stared at each other, both searching for answers in the silence. Their breathing was ragged, and both desired more... an understanding borne of physical passion. Darcy released Elizabeth from his grasp and ran his hands down her neck and arms, taking her hands gently in his. "Do you feel well, Elizabeth?" he asked gently, his lips gently grazing the almost faded bruise on her cheekbone.

Elizabeth could only nod, her heart and mind shocked by the exchange, and still uncertain of what was occurring. "I must go... but when I return, we WILL finish this. I have something of import to tell you." Darcy brought each of Elizabeth's tiny hands to his lips and pressed hot kisses in the palms, while trying to impart with his gaze the love that he felt for her.

In a flash, Darcy bowed to Elizabeth and moved out of the room so quickly that Elizabeth could not be sure that the encounter was not a dream. If not for the feverish warmth of her soft lips, she may have convinced herself that it was just that – a dream.

Darcy smiled as he prepared to depart Pemberley, his gaze searching for Elizabeth's room as he mounted his horse, imparting one last piece of crucial information to his steward. He had received a letter from Georgiana a week before informing him of her intentions to visit Elizabeth while she recovered, and that she was bringing with her a surprise guest. While the servants were prepared, Darcy was concerned that Elizabeth would be burdened by the visit, and he did not want her recovery impeded. "Thomas, please ensure that Georgiana and her guest are comfortable should they arrive before I return. Please ensure that my wife is not forced to act as hostess while she is still recovering. Georgiana can act as hostess while she is here."

He left Pemberley with Colonel Fitzwilliam by his side and the memory of Elizabeth's unwitting passionate response to his kiss. She still loved him, and when he returned, Darcy would make good on his promise to speak with her. He did not remember until he was on the road to Rosings Park that he had forgotten to remind Elizabeth to read his letters.

_Hope you all enjoyed the chapter - it is one of my faves so far! And I promise that the next chapter will reveal the mastermind and the reunion is in the works. Please review = it makes it all worthwhile!_


	26. Chapter 26

_Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. Please don't hate me after reading it – next chapter Lizzie and Darcy will come face to face. There is __**strong violence**__ in this chapter – although it is against one of the baddies so I doubt anyone will be too concerned. Thanks to Gayle for helping me through this chapter... and as always for her BETA-ing skills. _

**Chapter 26**

The mastermind attempted to remain poised as the Darcy carriage was at last loaded with the remainder of the trunks that were accompanying them to Pemberley, when all she wanted was to jump atop a horse and get there as quickly as was possible.

She forced herself to take a deep breath and smile at Georgiana Darcy as they stepped into the carriage – as equals. The mastermind had tried not to allow her annoyance to show at the delay in setting off for Pemberley, the place where her final prey awaited her. But she had little say in the matter when Georgiana had wanted to pay her goodbye calls to her London relatives and acquaintances, often dragging her guest along with her.

Little did Georgiana know that her "guest" cared for the society of nobody... save one man. Fitzwilliam Darcy would soon fall under her spell. This time, when the interloper had been dealt with, she would call Pemberley home - he could not refuse her again.

Now, after days of delay, the two women were finally setting off for Pemberley, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear. The mastermind was only glad that she had been able to convince Georgiana to conceal the identity of her guest from her brother, with the assurance that the surprise would be all the pleasanter when he looked upon her. _Yes, the surprise would be great indeed_, the mastermind spoke to herself, unable for a moment to hide the malice in her usually dull eyes.

* * *

Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Rosings Park in good time, both weary from the travel. They had stopped only when necessary to change horses, eat and catch a few hours of rest. Darcy had arranged for horses to be made available to him on his imminent return at each of his regular stops, wanting no delays to impede the reunion with his lovely Elizabeth.

There was a flutter of activity when the cousins arrived unannounced, and the housekeeper attempted to keep the determined men out of her ladyship's drawing room, but Mr Darcy would not have it. Without waiting to be announced, he burst into the room, where his aunt sat reading her correspondence.

She looked up in surprise when her nephews entered, her surprise soon turning to delight at the implication of the visit. _Had Darcy tired of the Bennet chit already?_ She had attempted to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind on her visit to Pemberley following the rumours of the estrangement, but she had left there unsatisfied. Now it seemed, something was important enough to bring her nephew all the way to Rosings, unaccompanied by Elizabeth Bennet, and she could not fathom any other reason for it. Maybe Darcy was regretting his decision regarding Anne. It was too bad that her daughter was from home, else Darcy would be able to see what he had given up – wealth, elegance and breeding.

"Darcy, Fitzwilliam, to what do I owe the honour?" Lady Catherine gushed in her most pleasant tone, sweeping to her feet as she greeted the gentlemen. "I am afraid that you have missed your cousin Anne, although I am certain that you will see her before long, Darcy." Her smile faded as Lady Catherine recognised the glint of fury in Darcy's eyes, his posture one of barely controlled rage. And when he spoke, his voice shook with anger. "How dare you!" His tone was dangerously soft.

Lady Catherine's face paled, and she stared incredulously at her nephew. "I do not understand you."

"How dare you devise such an evil plot to have my WIFE killed! I did not believe that _even you_ could stoop so low." Darcy flung the words at her in anger.

"Darcy, have you taken leave of your senses?" Lady Catherine spoke, her tone softer and less disdainful than either cousin had heard from her for a very long time. She came towards him, her concern written across her face, as she attempted to touch him to ascertain if he was suffering with a fever.

Darcy none too gently pushed the hand away and glared at his aunt. "You cannot deny it, Aunt. Not when I have irrefutable proof of your wicked scheme, and not when Elizabeth is only now recovering from the attempt on her life a month ago. Do not act shocked..." Darcy warned, when Lady Catherine paled and sank backwards into her chair, her mouth opening and closing as if she wished to say something that would not come out. "I know that you did this. Catherine, your former maid, whom it seems you forced to come to work at Pemberley to spy on me, has confessed all. Do not try to find her; she is safe... and I will protect her from your malice at all costs."

"Catherine...?" Lady Catherine stammered. "But she left us to go tend a relative who was ill. She was Anne's lady's maid until she up and left. Anne assured me that she would return. You tell me now that Catherine has been working at Pemberley?" Darcy faltered now, uncertain by his aunt's shocked reaction that his accusations were true. "Where is this confession? Is it a letter? May I read it?" Darcy handed Catherine's letter to his aunt and studied her reaction closely, her face becoming more colourless with every word that she read.

"Anne..." she muttered, glancing up at her nephews. "Catherine was Anne's maid. Anne must be the one of whom she speaks. Yet, Anne could not be capable of all this!" She spoke as if to herself, unable to credit the idea that her daughter could plan anything without informing herself.

"Anne... cousin _Anne_?" Colonel Fitzwilliam finally spoke, his tone one of disbelief as the words slowly seeped into his consciousness. "Anne hired Wickham to kill Elizabeth?"

"I knew that she wanted you, Darcy, to marry her, and she was bitterly disappointed when you chose Miss Bennet, but I cannot believe that she would intentionally hurt anyone," Lady Catherine spoke. "Rebecca..." she called crisply, and upon the entry of the maid, she gave her instructions. "Please open Miss Anne's personal writing desk and bring to me any correspondence that you find within."

"Now we shall see."

* * *

George Wickham smiled smugly, his plan formed. He stared out the window at the lush green landscape as the coach forged ahead. His guard was drowsy and no longer watched every move that Wickham made, but the coach, in an attempt to recover the time lost when the wheel had broken three days previous, was travelling too fast to consider an escape. Unfortunately for him, Wickham had been heavily guarded when they had been forced to stop at a nearby inn, and he had not been able to hatch an escape plan.

_No, the best course of action is to give up the mastermind_, Wickham thought to himself. He felt the coach lurch briefly before righting itself, his stomach protesting against the violent movement. His guard too, became alert and leaned out the window to speak to the driver. "What are ya doing, man?" he yelled gruffly.

Wickham could not hear the muffled response, but he knew that something was wrong... or right! _Was he being rescued? Had the mastermind decided to take pity on her right hand man and prevent his having to stand trial? _His heart leapt in barely controlled excitement as the coach increased in speed and the sound of several horses flanked them on both sides.

Suddenly his stomach dropped as the coach lurched again... sickening in its precariousness. The guard panicked, his eyes wide, his mouth open as he knocked on the coach roof in an effort to make the driver stop.

George Wickham saw his life flash before him as his heart pounded with the certainty that he was going to die. His body shook with fear as the coach veered this way and that, his hands clammy with sweat and his face as that of a ghost. He wretched as the guards vomit came across the small space as if in slow motion, covering his own clothing. He could hear sounds through the ringing of his ears, only nothing discernable.

And as the coach lurched a final time, teetering on two wheels for a painfully long time, George Wickham screamed a bloodcurdling scream and became aware that he had defecated in his breeches, the stench rising up to mingle with the vomit and filling the nostrils of the two occupants as the coach finally fell, becoming still and silent on the roadside.

* * *

When Rebecca returned with Anne's correspondence, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were almost crazy with worry. _They had been wrong_; Lady Catherine had known nothing of the plot to kill Elizabeth; while Anne, their unassuming and sickly cousin, had been the one all along.

Mr Darcy did not know how he had missed the signs of unbalance in his cousin – yet, could he really be blamed? Anne rarely spoke to anyone, and when she did, she was the epitome of politeness and respect; until a few minutes ago Darcy would not have believed she could hurt anyone, even unintentionally.

"How could she do this?" Lady Catherine spoke with resignation, holding up some letters for Darcy to see. They were from Mr Wickham to her daughter.

"Then it is true?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, looking over Darcy's shoulder to read the letters.

"How could she bring such shame to our family? I shall never see her again." Lady Catherine spoke decisively.

"Where is she?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked.

"I thought you would both know. Anne has been visiting with Georgiana in London."

Darcy felt his stomach drop, his hands going clammy as he realised the implication of his aunt's words. "But..." he could not even bring himself to say it.

"Georgiana is on her way to Pemberley."

* * *

George Wickham awoke with his mouth full of dust, the taste of it mingling with the tinny flavour of his own blood. He felt numb, a heaviness had settled over him, and he swivelled his weary neck to see the shattered coach atop his body. Blood seeped into the dust of the road, and Wickham could only watch as it spread further and further, and his own alertness faded. He could not think... he could hardly feel... and he could not even attempt to move. Pools of blood coiled towards him, and Wickham watched them with a morbid fascination, wondering if it was his blood, yet unable to ascertain.

Slow footsteps came towards him, and he felt a slight breeze from the swish of a woman's skirts, and he fought his fading consciousness to look up... expecting somehow to see an angel. But what he saw filled Wickham with dread beyond anything he had ever known. "I told you that I would not stand for mistakes..." the woman spoke softly. "Enjoy hell, George Wickham."

As Wickham felt himself fading, all knowledge of what was occurring around him dimmed, and he felt only horror that she had arranged this. SHE had perfected the ultimate revenge.

* * *

When Anne De Bourgh climbed back into the carriage, Georgiana Darcy took her hand, her eyes expressing her anxiety. "What has happened?" she exclaimed. "Why did you leave the carriage?"

Anne smiled at her cousin, attempting to disguise the true satisfaction that she felt at the scene before her. Wickham was as good as dead... and in the meantime, his torture would continue a few more minutes. One problem solved. The other was waiting for her at the end of their journey... at Pemberley. Anne soothed her cousin's innocent sensibilities as she attempted to conceal the true horror of the scene on the road... Georgiana would be good for nothing if she saw the bloodbath of the "accident."

Anne prepared her reason for her unladylike behaviour in exiting the carriage and spoke with her head down as if ashamed. "As the elder cousin, I feel personally responsible, dearest Georgiana – for you, and for the innocent men who have suffered in the accident today. I felt that I had to see if anything could be done for them. One of your footmen has been sent to retrieve help – we can only pray for the poor victims now." Georgiana smiled sympathetically at her cousin, who felt so much for the sufferings of others, and squeezed her hands lightly in support.

As the women waited patiently for the carriage to set off again, Anne thanked her good fortune that the timing of Wickham's demise had coincided so perfectly with her own final journey into her future. She had arranged the incident so carefully but had not dared to hope that she could be so fortunate as to actually witness it. _Goodbye, Wickham_, she thought gleefully. _I doubt you will be missed._

* * *

Over the days of her husband's absence, Elizabeth Darcy allowed what felt like a forbidden hope to enter her heart. The memory of his fevered lips upon hers, taking everything that she had to offer, lifted her previously suppressed spirits up above the clouds. With that kiss, Elizabeth had attempted to communicate all of the abiding love and passion for her husband that existed within her, and she hoped that his lips had imparted the same. Yet, Elizabeth could not be sure until his return... until they had spoken of all that had happened and come to an understanding between them.

Elizabeth tried not allow her hopes to escalate too high, lest she be disappointed, but right now she could do nothing to help it. Usually when she found herself dreaming too much, she chastised herself and focused instead on the physical discomfort that she still felt.

Elizabeth paced her room, unable to remain confined to her bed any longer. She stopped at her dresser, peering into the mirror before turning away in disgust at her unkempt appearance. The lustre from her skin had disappeared entirely; her hair hung down her back, the curls unruly with lack of proper care; and she was too thin, her figure merely a shadow of her former self. _No wonder he had stayed away from me,_ Elizabeth thought to herself, her previous elevated mood fading like a distant memory.

Elizabeth refused to torture herself with further thoughts of her husband, and she looked down at her dresser which held the remnants of the medical supplies that she had required for her recovery. The sight disgusted her, the memory of her incapacity painful to think on, and Elizabeth wanted nothing more than to be rid of every reminder of that dreadful time. She was ready to move on now, and as soon as Darcy returned, she would attempt to shape a life for them. She called out to whichever servant was within hearing distance and asked that the evidence of her injuries be cleared away. Then she arranged her hair into a simple knot and ventured below stairs to her husband's library.

* * *

Georgiana and her cousin Anne had arrived at Pemberley an hour earlier. After being shown to her room, Anne had feigned the need to rest, and then furtively made her way to her cousin Darcy's library. The ladies had been informed by Jane Bingley that Darcy was from home and was expected to return in a few days. Mr Bingley was the only gentleman in the house, and he was currently seeing to a problem in the gardens in Darcy's absence. So Anne knew that she would not be disturbed.

She did not have a plan except to drive Elizabeth Bennet away from Pemberley... and Darcy… forever. When she had gone, Anne would use the resources at her fingertips to falsify the girl's death, thereby leaving Darcy free to marry again. This time, he would choose correctly. This time Anne refused to sit patiently by, waiting for him to come to her.

She had come to his library in the anticipation of locating something that could be used as proof of Darcy's infidelity to the Bennet chit. After all, Anne could not believe that somebody so common could hold the interest of her discerning cousin for long. She had always suspected that Darcy would take a mistress soon after his marriage to the country girl, and while she had no proof of such a liaison, Anne had taken it upon herself to spread the rumour about town. She wondered spitefully if Elizabeth had heard the rumours yet. No matter, for if she had not, Anne would ensure that she soon would. Elizabeth Bennet, of such apparent high principles and such impertinent manners, would not stand for a man who benefited from such liaisons, Anne assumed, so she had to ensure that Elizabeth was far, far away by the time Darcy returned to Pemberley.

She walked quietly around Mr Darcy's desk and tried the drawers, fully expecting them to be locked, yet when she tried, the top drawer slid open easily, and Anne could only wonder where Darcy could have gone in such a hurry to have forgotten to lock his papers securely away. She picked up the document that rested right on top, and her brow furrowed in confusion as she perused it. Why would Darcy want to purchase a manor not far from Pemberley? Did he mean to expand his property? Suddenly it no longer mattered what the manor was intended for as an idea came to Anne's devious mind. She smiled to herself as she took the paper and slid the drawer closed, wondering how she could get to Elizabeth without detection and as soon as possible.

* * *

The opportunity to see Elizabeth came sooner than Anne could have hoped for. As she was about to leave the library, book in hand in case someone happened upon her as she was leaving, she heard light footsteps outside the door and the sound of Elizabeth's voice as she spoke to a servant of her intention to spend some time reading in her husband's private De Bourgh," Elizabeth spoke in surprise at finding Georgiana's guest in a room designated for her husband's exclusive use.

"Mrs Darcy..." Anne concealed the fury that it caused her to have to say those words and curtsied politely at her nemesis. "Pray, forgive me for entering Darcy's library without permission, I only wanted to find a book which used to be one of my favourites whenever I would visit Pemberley. It was always shelved in here."

"It is quite all right, Miss De Bourgh; only you startled me. I must enquire as to your health, cousin, for you are now my cousin, too." Elizabeth smiled at Anne, wishing that she could be alone, yet not wanting to bring disgrace on her husband by being impolite to his cousin. At any rate, Anne De Bourgh had never been unpleasant towards Elizabeth; her only sin was having a mother such as Lady Catherine De Bourgh.

"I am well, cousin," Anne replied, trying not to let the words choke her. _How could she abide calling this hoyden her cousin? _"I feel I must enquire after _your_ health; Georgiana has told me that you were recently very unwell indeed."

"Yes," Elizabeth tentatively touched her healing shoulder and then the light bruises still remaining on her face. "But I am feeling better every day, and the staff have been very attentive to my injuries. I expect I shall be myself again before long." Elizabeth smiled wistfully.

"What of Darcy, cousin? How could he bear to leave you at a time like this? I hope that his business was of some import? Or perhaps the rumours... no..."

"Rumours?" Elizabeth questioned, her injured senses honed to the tone in Anne's voice and manner. "I know not where my husband has gone, but he assured me that it was necessary. I would like to know of the rumours of which you speak, cousin, for if they concern my husband, surely I have a right to know?"

"I would not wish to pain you, cousin. The rumours are such which have filtered down through the members of the ton in London, but as you are no doubt aware, these rumours often turn out to have little substance." Anne took Elizabeth's hands in hers, in a gesture of comfort. Yet she knew that Elizabeth, with her curious nature, would not rest until she knew everything. "In fact, I had planned to speak to Darcy himself about them to ensure that they could not injure you!"

"Please Miss De Bourgh... Anne... I do not think that anything could shock me at this juncture. In the absence of my husband, I insist that you tell me of these rumours so that I may refute them on behalf of him." Elizabeth felt her heart pounding within her chest, her alarm increasing, yet never believing that any rumours about her honourable husband could be true.

"I will say this quickly then, and ask that you do not become too upset." Elizabeth nodded. "The rumours circulating purport that Darcy has taken a mistress... that he met the woman not far from Pemberley approximately two months after his wedding... and that he seeks to move her close by so that he can visit her whenever he desires..." Anne noted with satisfaction that all colour had seeped out of Elizabeth's face, and she sat staring into nothing, unable to react. She took the opportunity to continue planting seeds of doubt in Elizabeth's mind. "I thought it to be a scandalous falsehood that my cousin would take a mistress so soon after his marriage. After all, he appeared so taken with you, Elizabeth. I do not wish to cause you further pain, but I instantly set off to Pemberley to have you or Darcy refute the claims; to stop the spread of gossip which is even now labelling your marriage as the worst scandal." Anne paused delicately, studying the now ghostlike appearance of her cousin's face, enjoying every moment of the pain she intentionally inflicted.

"And it is _not_ true," Elizabeth whispered, her words almost inaudible in the quiet room. "Fitzwilliam would not do that to me. He loves me..." Her voice trailed off, her mind questioning the statement that her heart had dictated. _Would he show so much passion for me, as he did both at the pianoforte and in my chamber yesterday, if he did not love me?_ She questioned herself. Yet at the same time, his parting words haunted her. _I have something of import to tell you_, he had said. _What if the matter he wanted to discuss was __**not**__ what Elizabeth had assumed; letting her know that he still loved her? What if instead, it was merely his way of breaking the news of his infidelity to his wife?_ Elizabeth choked back a sob, determined to not give credence to the rumours.

"I am afraid..." Anne paused, as if she did not want to continue, "I do not wish to pain you further, cousin."

"Please, Miss De Bourgh... I need to know..." Elizabeth pleaded, and Anne smiled to herself, devious to the last, noting the formality that had returned to Elizabeth's address as a testament to how disturbed she was by the news.

"You must not become too upset, my dear. The rumours were that Darcy was purchasing a small estate for the woman not far from Pemberley, and that he would set her up to live there and visit her as often as he pleased. I, of course, paid no heed to the rumours, but I am afraid..." she held out the document signed with Darcy's name averring the intent to purchase the manor house of Covington Manor. "I found this in the book that I picked up to read a moment ago while in the library. It appears that the rumours must be true. Oh, I am so troubled that I must be the person to tell you this – I honestly believed that the rumours were not true on setting out for Pemberley, cousin, but on discovering the papers, how could I keep it from you? It would be against my Christian and womanly duty." Anne moved over to Elizabeth's side and gently touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture, playing on the bond of womanly consolation. Elizabeth could not move, the numbness of her body, the lump in her throat, and the sting of tears behind her eyes, more than she could cope with. She held the paper in shaking hands, her eyes staring at the words on the page with the appearance of incomprehension, yet Elizabeth knew all too well what her cousin was implying.

Anne knew that Elizabeth was barely responsive now and realised that she had nothing to lose to continue her onslaught. With a wicked smile, she prepared her final words and lowered her tone as she spoke them into Elizabeth's ear, "I am sorry to cause you this distress, cousin, however word amongst the peers in town has labelled you as the most determined flirt. They are saying that you have consistently refused to share your husband's bed, and that having wed him for his money, your attentions have ceased. I know that it cannot be so; my cousin is the one at fault here. Not satisfied with an innocent in his bed, he was forced to look elsewhere to slake his male desires. You must not take it to heart, my dear, for I am told that most gentlemen are the same. The only faithful ones are those that have married for love..." Her voice trailed off, as she let the full weight of them seep into Elizabeth's mind.

Anne watched as Elizabeth closed her eyes as if to block the pain. Elizabeth spoke so softly, words choked with emotion, "Enough... I can take no more..."

"Oh my dear, you really do love him, do you not?"

Elizabeth could only raise her brown eyes to Anne's own, the anguish reflected within the only answer that she could need. The look was one that would have broken anyone else, but Anne could only rejoice within her own mind, knowing that the interloper would be out of Darcy's life forever. Slowly Elizabeth retreated from the room and made her way back up to her chamber, as if every step she took caused excruciating pain.

* * *

Mr Darcy rode quickly, his horse flying over the countryside, eating up the miles that he had never had cause to fly over before. His every thought was for Elizabeth and the pain that Anne could inflict on the unsuspecting occupants of Pemberley.

He never would have believed that somebody so close to his family could have hidden a character of such evil for so long. He prayed that he would reach Pemberley before his sister and cousin, or at least in enough time to stop her causing any further harm to Elizabeth.

_Stay strong, Lizzie_, he implored, hoping that she would be able to draw strength from his thoughts of her. _I am coming for you._

_TBC..._

_Please review! I am still away on holiday so I probably won't be able to post a new chapter for at least a week. But I promise it is on it's way._


	27. Chapter 27

_Wishing you all a happy new year! Hope this chapter makes the start of your 2011 awesome! Thanks to Gayle for BETA-ing!_

**Chapter 27**

How Elizabeth made it to her chamber she would never know, her body numbed as it was from utter shock. All she knew was the devastation that seemed to swallow her whole... removing all warmth and leaving her void of all emotion. Gone were the feelings of hope that Elizabeth had so recently entertained of a blissful reunion with her husband... now all that remained was emptiness such as she had never before known.

As soon as she reached the safety of her chamber, Elizabeth closed the door and fell heavily against it, her mind whirling, her chest heaving –an inability to think engulfing her being. She closed her eyes to try to stop her emotions from lurching so sickeningly within, but still Elizabeth found that her thoughts could not settle on any one thing, and the turmoil seemed only to increase.

When she finally opened her eyes to view her room, Elizabeth was pained by the mental assault... the memories of Darcy sleeping in her bed, holding her closely and whispering endearments meant only for her ears - agony to reflect on. Mixed with the confused reflections of Darcy's sweetness, was the piercingly clear voice of Anne De Bourgh as she informed Elizabeth of her husband's infidelity.

"_The rumours circulating purport that Darcy has taken a mistress... that he met the woman not far from Pemberley approximately two months after his wedding... and that he seeks to move her close by so that he can visit her whenever he desires..." _

The words pierced her to her very soul, the pain deep, as the words continued to echo through her conscious mind. Elizabeth had yet to break down, her shock such that her eyes remained dry, sensations pricking behind the brown depths where the tears awaited release. She did notice that her heart pounded forcefully so that she could feel every beat through every inch of skin; her ears rang, and her hands trembled as she clutched the evidence of her husband's betrayal within her clammy palm. It was on that, that Elizabeth now concentrated, as she smoothed out the deep creases inflicted by her iron grip and studied the signature that adorned the page.

"_The rumours were that Darcy was purchasing a small estate for the woman not far from Pemberley, and that he would set her up to live there and visit her as often as he pleased. I, of course, paid no heed to the rumours, but I am afraid... I found this in the book that I picked up to read a moment ago while in the library. It appears that the rumours must be true."_

If not for the document signed in Darcy's own hand, Elizabeth would never have believed Anne's words. _Yet how could she now doubt it? How could she ignore the evidence directly before her eyes? _Because as much as Elizabeth did not want to believe it, she had no reason to distrust Anne De Bourgh; for as much as she knew, the woman had never borne Elizabeth any animosity, even going so far as to send a note of congratulations to her and Darcy after their engagement, and her compassion had been great indeed when Elizabeth had insisted on her disclosure of the circulating rumours. A strangled sob emerged, like the cry of a tortured animal, and Elizabeth's fist went to her mouth in an attempt to stop the pitiful sound, so foreign to her own ears. _A mistress... her Fitzwilliam... seeking pleasure in the arms of another... and so soon after their marriage... How would she bear it?_

Unable to remain still any longer, Elizabeth paced her chamber, her chest tight with a constriction that left breathing arduous. She clapped her hands over her ears in an attempt to stop the final, earth-shattering blow from surfacing into her consciousness. The words that had proved her undoing:

"_I am sorry to cause you this distress, cousin, however word amongst the peers in town has labelled you as the most determined flirt. They are saying that you have consistently refused to share your husband's bed, and that having wed him for his money, your attentions have ceased."_

_Could he really think like that?_ Elizabeth asked herself as tears leaked slowly from her eyes. But the sickening sensation that came over her as she pondered the words made her relive the last months of her marriage, starkly reminding her of her stubbornness and refusal to even speak to Darcy. _How could any man be expected to bear such coldness from a woman whom he had taken as wife? Had he now determined that he was unable to live without physical pleasure and did he believe that Elizabeth would not oblige?_ She had certainly given him the impression that she did not wish to see him – maybe now Darcy was resolved to live a life of estrangement from her. And Elizabeth could not even find it within herself to blame him for any actions that he may have taken; what man could be expected to abide that behaviour from a wife?

Without knowing how she managed it, Elizabeth found herself outside the manor, her stomach heaving violently as the stark desolation of her future became apparent - doomed to misery if she stayed with a husband who had once loved her, but now sought his pleasures in the bed of his kept mistress; or doomed to disgrace if she dared to leave him. The thought sickened Elizabeth, and she found herself bent over the grass, retching as her stomach emptied itself of its meagre contents.

_I cannot stay here_, Elizabeth thought_. I cannot stand by and watch my love reject me for another woman. _Her mind anguished, Elizabeth lost all rational thought, her distress increasing as she imagined her husband in the arms of another woman, giving another the pleasure that she had thought he reserved especially for her.

She was not aware that she stood in the cold air in nothing but her white muslin dress and day shoes, all thoughts of coat, gloves, bonnet and outdoor shoes forgotten due to her anguish; for all propriety was now forgotten - Elizabeth became not the mistress of Pemberley nor a lady of society, but a woman... heartbroken... pitiful... and wronged by the man she would forever love.

Not planning or even caring where she would go, Elizabeth started to run, her eyes blinded by hot tears that were finally released to cascade down her pale cheeks, the pain in her heart outshining the physical exhaustion and aching that should have registered. She half ran and half stumbled across the grounds, her only goal to get as far away from Pemberley and Darcy as humanly possible.

* * *

Anne De Bourgh watched as Elizabeth left her chamber, her satisfaction complete when she saw the tears that tracked down the cheeks of her nemesis.

She followed at a distance as Elizabeth made it outside, unobserved by the servants, pausing only to empty the contents of her stomach into the garden.

Anne smiled to herself as she saw the interloper rush away from the house, turning back once as if the devil himself were at her heels. _Stay away Darcy; let the chit run herself into an early grave, _Anne thought smugly_. Or if not, let her get herself far away from here so that you will never be able to find her._ She turned on her heel and made her way unhurriedly back above stairs.

* * *

When Darcy arrived at Pemberley after days of hasty riding, he should have been fit for nothing, excepting to fall into his bed and sleep for days. But fatigue had no impact on a man so concerned for his beloved wife. He barely stopped to greet Mrs Reynolds or Thomas, instead striding into the sitting room where Georgiana was calmly taking tea with Jane Bingley. Both pairs of astonished eyes looked up at him in surprise as he spoke with authority, eschewing any attempt at polite civilities.

"Where is she?"

Georgiana, having taken a moment to consider his rude address, stood to approach her brother. Never had she had occasion to see Darcy so restless as he was at this very moment, his posture one of intense agitation, as if readying himself to flee on but a moment's notice.

"Where is who, brother?" she spoke calmly, glancing at him uneasily.

"Elizabeth... where is my wife?" His brown eyes pleaded with Georgiana to answer his question without expressing her own concerns.

"I think she is upstairs, brother."

"And Anne...?" he begged. "Please tell me that Anne is not with her?"

"I believe Anne is also resting upstairs... what is this all about, br...?" Georgiana's queries were cut off as Darcy turned on his heel and rushed out of the room. She followed quickly as his footsteps resounded up the stairs.

"Elizabeth!" he yelled as he approached her chambers, not pausing to knock as he flung open the door to her room. The upstairs maid glanced at her master in astonishment as he entered her mistress's room without ceremony. She dipped into a respectful, if delayed, curtsy.

"Have you seen your mistress?" Darcy asked immediately upon noticing her within. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest with the panic of not knowing what had happened to Elizabeth.

"Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but I 'ave not seen the mistress since I came into the room a half hour past... She were in the library with Miss De Bourgh two hours past."

"Oh God..." Darcy could no more stop the anguished groan that escaped him than he could control the terror that filled his soul. He rushed quickly from the room, not looking at Georgiana and Jane, who looked on in mounting alarm, and did not stop until he came face to face with Anne.

"You..." he growled as he captured Anne's shoulders in a punishing grip. "What have you done to her?" He backed his cousin into the wall, his ears ringing with a rage that threatened to overflow, heedless of the cries of all three women, and the two pairs of hands trying to pull him backwards. Darcy was unable to make sense of any of the words spewing from the women, his eyes looking unsympathetically upon the tear-streaked face of his insipid cousin, his passion reserved for the welfare of his threatened beloved.

Before many more seconds had passed, Darcy felt the restraining hand of Mr Bingley on his shoulder, and he almost howled when he attended to the words that Anne spoke. "She is gone, Darcy. Elizabeth no longer loves you... she does not want to be your wife; she told me as much before she left. She does not want you to search..."

Anne's devious words were cut off by Darcy's bellow. "LIES..." The word echoed through the halls of Pemberley, such that Mrs Reynolds came rushing up to the scene.

"Thomas informed me that the mistress was seen by one of the gardeners in nothing but a day dress and slippers heading towards the east garden, not an hour past."

"Mrs Reynolds, I need you to inform Thomas to search the entire grounds of Pemberley for Elizabeth," Darcy commanded. He released his cousin, looking on her in disgust. "Bingley, do not let this _woman_ out of your sight while I find Elizabeth. She is the cause of all of my wife's recent suffering."

* * *

The mist surrounding Pemberley was thick, the cold brutality of it a reflection of the moods of the occupants both within the house itself and, more importantly, those without. Outside it was almost impenetrable, dense as if it could not be cut with even the sharpest of knives, and both Elizabeth and Darcy struggled to see clearly through it.

To Elizabeth, the lack of vision mattered little, her brown eyes already obscured by the bitter tears that would not cease as she stumbled forwards, little knowing in which direction she was headed... only determined to remove herself from Pemberley as quickly as possible.

To Darcy however, the murkiness had him cursing in agitation. He knew not what had become of Elizabeth, nor how far or in which direction she had travelled. All he knew was that he must find her... and before any further harm could come to her. Darcy knew that he could not bear it if he was the cause of yet another grievance to his beloved wife. He scoured the borders of Pemberley on his fastest mount, sure that she could not have reached any farther in her still recovering condition, yet determined to search every inch of his land until he had located Elizabeth. His anxious eyes squinted through the mist; his heart willing them to see through the thick whiteness and find her. Yet for what seemed long hours, but could only have been minutes, Darcy's search remained fruitless, his voice becoming hoarse from calling out her name, with no answering cry sounding over the terrain.

Elizabeth shivered in her inadequate attire, barely noticing the chill that seeped through to her very bones. Rational thought had long ceased as she stumbled onwards, running no longer a choice for her exhausted body. In her mind, Elizabeth could see the face of her beloved, the soft curls that fell over his forehead in an unguarded moment, the molten pools of brown eyes that could make her melt in one glance, the strong chin with the cleft at the base which she could not help desiring to kiss, and the incredibly soft lips, which never failed to demand an answering response from her own. She could hear him speaking to her, words of love and devotion... she could taste the sweetness of his skin as she imagined her lips on his... she could feel his touch, the heat of his palms grasping tightly to her waist, or his mouth lingering on the palm of her hand... and she could smell the scent of him, the fresh, masculine scent a pleasure to her every sense. It was as if he were beside her in the very flesh; yet, in the forefront of her mind, Elizabeth knew that he would never be beside her again. And the thought pierced her heart so that she could no longer move, and she found herself slowly sinking to her knees on the soft grass, head in her hands and tears cascading between her fingers. Her keening cry sounded across the silent landscape. "Fitzwilliam... oh Fitzwilliam..." Her body shook with despair so powerful that Elizabeth felt she could die from it, if for no other reason than to escape the pain of a broken heart.

The sound of a pitiful cry alerted Darcy to her presence. For a long moment, he could hardly associate the echoing moan with his Elizabeth - the beautiful, vibrant woman that he had married - before reality intruded with a vengeance, and he realised that he did not know in what condition his cousin had left Elizabeth. He urged his horse to run faster as he followed the direction of the sound.

Darcy saw her as Elizabeth rose from her position on the ground, her figure moving towards him through the mist like a mirage through the desert. Elizabeth's only objective was to keep moving, stumbling blindingly over the grass in her continuing distress. "Elizabeth!" Darcy's concerned voice called out as he approached on horseback, like a spectre appearing from nowhere.

Elizabeth looked up, the disbelief on her face quickly turning to alarm as she distinguished Darcy's form through the mist. She turned away from him, panic setting in, as she stumbled away in the direction from whence she had come, her goal to escape him. Darcy looked on in disbelief as he hastily dismounted from his horse, lengthening his stride in order to reach her side. "Elizabeth... please..." he called out from his distance. And as he came nearer, he could hear the strangled sobs that Elizabeth was unable to stifle.

"Leave me..." her voice demanded through her tears, her unsteady legs propelling her delicate body forwards and away from Darcy in a valiant effort at escape. Darcy's heart clenched to hear his beloved ordering him away from her, but he would not yield. He reached her in but a few strides, Elizabeth's recovering body no match for Darcy's larger, towering frame. He sensed her anxiety, and he did not want to further frighten her, so he reached out for her right hand as it swung behind her, grasping tightly when he captured it. "Elizabeth... you must stop... you are distraught."

They stopped suddenly, Elizabeth realising that she could move no further under Darcy's restraining grip. She kept her body averted, sobs escaping her unconstrained now, as her shoulders shook with the force of her emotional sorrow. Darcy kept hold of her struggling hand as she tried time and time again to pull it from his grasp. "Please, my love... do not cry..." he groaned, as every shudder of her small frame was like a gunshot to his heart. _Had he caused this? Could she be __**so**__ tremendously unhappy to see him that it would cause her to react this way? _And even though Darcy knew that his presence was adding to Elizabeth's distress, he feared that if he were to leave her, she would pose a very serious danger to herself_. Better to be the target of her fury than to leave her to injure herself in her distraught state_, Darcy thought.

From nowhere, Elizabeth felt herself slowly fill with a red hot anger that she could no longer control. Like a volcano lying dormant... bubbling gradually... until finally erupting in a display of flames, the fire burned within her soul as Elizabeth remained facing away from the cause of her distress... every hurt, every circumstance bursting forth from her injured heart. Unable to release her tiny hand from Darcy's powerful hold, she whirled angrily around, her brown eyes finding his, blazing sparks of rage shooting from their depths. Her tears ceased momentarily as Elizabeth found her voice and cried hoarsely, "How dare you call me your love... how dare you pretend that nothing has happened..." Elizabeth looked down at the document that was clutched in her left hand and flung it towards him as if scalded by its contents. "You move your mistress here, and you dare to call me your _love_?" she spat.

Darcy looked on in disbelief, the mist had lifted, and his eyes settled briefly on the document that now rested on the ground. With confusion, he stared at the avenging angel before him, her eyes flashing fire, recent tears tracking down her flushed cheeks. Suddenly all of the pieces clicked into place. _A mistress... Covington Manor... Anne_... Anne had attempted to poison an already fragile Elizabeth against him. She had fed her lies and innuendoes, using Darcy's absence and his purchase of the estate, to further her devious ends to rid Pemberley of Elizabeth. Little did Anne know that Darcy would no longer wish to exist in a world without Elizabeth by his side. Little did she know that Elizabeth embodied Darcy's every fantasy, every wish, every hope, and every dream for the future. He had no life without her.

Darcy reached down to pick up the paper in an attempt to gather his thoughts, and as he did so, Elizabeth wrenched her hand from his grasp and turned again to flee, pitiful cries wracking her once more. Darcy took only a second to recover and stepped in front of her so that she almost careened into his unyielding frame in her attempt to escape. "You must listen to me..." he demanded in his gentlest tone, hoping to impart some of his sincerity through his eyes. But Elizabeth refused to look at him.

Tiny hands came up as incoherent words spat forth between sobs, and this time, instead of moving away from him, Elizabeth stepped closer, beating her clenched fists into his chest as hard as she was able. Again and again she struck him, as if in an attempt to cause Darcy as much pain as she herself was feeling.

The blows hardly registered to Darcy, his only concern was that Elizabeth might harm herself as she continued to hit him. He worried for her recent injuries; her left shoulder had only just begun to heal, and he could not bear for Elizabeth to cause herself further injury. In one motion, Darcy grasped Elizabeth's wrists as they attempted to continue beating down on him, easily restraining her as she cursed and cried and struggled to be free. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks, as Darcy pulled her closer by her wrists to effectively end her struggles, trapping her against his warm chest. He crooned softly to Elizabeth as his strong arms came around her, holding her against him, her fists still clenched and trying to fight between them. Darcy buried his face into Elizabeth's hair and continued to speak softly to her, expressions of love that at first failed to register in her conscious mind.

Still, when Elizabeth had eventually tired herself, and her sobs had quietened to silent tears of sadness, her arms finally relaxed against Darcy's chest. It was then that the whispered endearments filled her soul and calmed her, and Elizabeth found herself, almost against her conscious will, resting her face against his strong neck, her love for him called forth by his gentleness. "Hush, sweetheart... all will be well..." His words continued as he rocked her gently within his embrace and thanked all that was holy for this chance to be close to his beloved. He calmed, as Elizabeth relaxed into his embrace, her breathing evening out and her cries filtering off to the occasional hiccup. "You are my only love, Elizabeth... everything else that you have heard is nought but lies... I can explain all to you..." Fevered lips touched first upon Elizabeth's hair, then her forehead, then her closed eyes that still leaked slow tears. With one arm still around her, Darcy used his other arm to pick up first one of Elizabeth's hands and then the other to press a reverent kiss to the veined wrist, then the palm and then the base of the thumb. And still Elizabeth did not resist as she lay softly in the comforting arms of her beloved husband, words beyond her as she allowed herself to remain where she most wished to be.

After a long time, Darcy put Elizabeth away from him, his hands secured lightly on her upper arms. Elizabeth swayed slightly, unstable from the torrent of emotion that had poured from her, made steady by her husband's hold. Darcy's soft gaze searched Elizabeth's unresisting brown eyes, in an effort to ascertain her willingness to remain within his embrace. "Elizabeth... you must let me explain everything," he spoke softly, and he found himself thankful when Elizabeth merely nodded her assent, her eyes never leaving his.

_Hope you liked the chapter. Please review! _


	28. Chapter 28

_Thanks all for your patience awaiting the new chapter. I have been holidaying – but will be back in a couple of days and will try to get the chapters out faster again. Thanks for all of the reviews – it makes it all worthwhile when I know that you are all enjoying my story. Thanks to Gayle for her unsurpassed BETA skills._

**Chapter 28**

Elizabeth felt the fog begin to lift. Her senses had become overwhelmed with uncontrolled emotion – her fury had been such that she wished to inflict as much pain on Darcy as he had inflicted on her, whether his actions had been intentional or not. Her eyes stung from bitter tears that seemed to spring from an infinite well; her throat was raw from ceaseless crying and shouting. Despite her former resolve, she was comforted by Darcy's whispers of love and his kisses; her traitorous body had revelled in it. Elizabeth was exhausted and could do nought but to agree to Darcy's request – her heart leapt at the thought that there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all that had happened, and that all was not lost.

Elizabeth was instantly warmed when Darcy removed his outer coat and placed it around her shoulders, his care for her comfort reassuring and pleasing to her battered heart. His large hands remained on her upper arms for a moment while he leaned into her and placed a tender kiss on her forehead; Elizabeth found her eyes fluttering closed at the tingling sensation that lingered on her skin. She forced her arms to remain relaxed and willed them not to reach for her husband to beg for more. She needed to keep her wits about her to prevent her falling prey to Darcy's tender ministrations.

Darcy lifted Elizabeth into his arms, ignoring her feeble protests, his fatigue forgotten at the feeling of his wife so close. He looked around, squinting through the lessening fog, in an attempt to locate a convenient place to sit. Darcy was not going to allow anything to prevent his explaining everything to Elizabeth... he would not delay it even until they could reach Pemberley; for more problems awaited there that they would have to confront. Darcy had every hope that he and Elizabeth could arrive back at Pemberley a united front and was encouraged by her responses thus far.

He strode over to the great willow tree and ducked underneath the hanging branches. He sat down, still holding Elizabeth clasped in his arms, and leaned back against the massive tree trunk. "Now, there is much I have to tell you, Elizabeth. I have so much to impart," he spoke stiltedly, so unsure now that Elizabeth was his captive audience of where to start, and how to make her understand.

Elizabeth wriggled against him, her sense and stubbornness urging her to remove herself from this proximity to him, yet her heart singing at the contact. Elizabeth was in danger of falling into the trap of losing all independent thought when she was this close, and she could not allow her judgement to be clouded by her consuming love for him. "Sir, you must unhand me," she admonished, as Darcy's hands tightened around her struggling frame.

Suddenly Elizabeth was free, and she stood as quickly as she was able, noticing as she did so the hurt look on Darcy's face. "You abhor me that much?" he asked in horror, standing too, brown eyes appealing for her to say no, yet his heart sinking from the weight of the torment of his own love for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth touched his arm, her natural womanly instinct to give comfort to the man she loved. "I only meant that I cannot think clearly if I stay in your arms. I shall sit here," she explained, smiling slightly at Darcy as he moved quickly to assist her to sit delicately on a flat rock nearby.

He sighed in relief as he knelt in front of her, wanting desperately to touch her, but restraining himself. He weighed each word carefully, his very real knowledge of how he and Elizabeth seemed doomed to always misunderstand one another, haunting in its severity. "I know not where to begin," Darcy spoke in agitation, staring into Elizabeth's confused, brown eyes, as she waited patiently. It reminded him of the time so long ago when he had first proposed to her at Hunsford. Darcy closed his eyes and prayed that _this_ interview would turn out very differently from that painful day.

There were long moments of silence as he frantically thought over everything that he needed to declare. "Oh Elizabeth..." he groaned in tormented tones, a lump in his throat stopping every sensible word that attempted to escape his mouth. Never one to be comfortable with words, the immensity of what had occurred threatened to overwhelm him.

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning," Elizabeth suggested huskily, as she placed a cool hand on Darcy's cheek, forcing him to look up at her. Her steadfast gaze calmed him somewhat, and Darcy's hand reached up to cover hers where it rested. Elizabeth let the warmth envelop her for a moment before pulling away, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap. "First, I _must_ tell you that I _love_ you, Elizabeth. You are my one love, my wife, and my very reason for living. Everything that I have done was because of you and _for_ you, however misguided it may have been, however badly it may have ended. You believe me, do you not?" Darcy appealed, his uncertain eyes searching hers.

"I..." Elizabeth searched the eyes of her husband and saw nothing but truth reflected within. Yet she could not completely risk her heart again until she understood further. Instead of speaking, Elizabeth closed her eyes and merely nodded, encouraging Darcy to continue.

"The first weeks after our marriage were the happiest of my life, Elizabeth. You blossomed as mistress of Pemberley and as my wife, and I was more proud of you than I can express in words. I believed that _nothing_ could ever ruin our happiness." Darcy stood up, pacing abruptly in front of Elizabeth, the persistent lump in his throat threatening to choke him from the emotions.

Elizabeth's soft voice whispered and surrounded him as if it were part of the breeze itself. "I did, too." She felt tears fill her eyes at the remembrance of the times that they had spent together before all had gone wrong. "But then you changed."

"I did not change, not really, although to you it would have seemed that way. Do you remember, Lizzie, the day when everything altered?" Darcy came to kneel in front of her again and took her clasped hands into his. "Something happened to you that day..." he prompted when he saw the confusion fill her eyes.

Realisation dawned, and Elizabeth remembered like it was yesterday. The trip to Lambton, the falling rock, the sweet tenderness of her husband as he tended to her injury, and then his abrupt withdrawal. "The accident in Lambton..." she gasped, her eyes widening.

"Yes, that was the day. I had much reason to be suspicious that it was _no_ accident," Darcy explained. "You see, I had received threatening letters on our return from Bath, and while the first one was easily ignored, the second one arrived that fateful day. Had the incident not have happened in Lambton – had you not been injured – I should likely have ignored that one also, but the letter threatened _you_ my dearest, and I could not bear the thought that someone with a grudge against _me_ would hurt _you_. I thought that if I pretended not to care for you, excepting as a prize that I had fought for and won – no real regard beyond victory – the villain who had threatened you would turn his attentions to myself instead. I had reason to believe that he would attack that which I held most dear. And in my demonstration of my love for you, _you_ were vulnerable to his attack!"

Darcy ceased his explanation as he recalled the note which had sent fear through his very soul. "_Do you care for her above your own life? Interesting theory and one I intend to discover," _he recited, his face turning gray as he lost himself in the memory. Elizabeth shuddered, her entire body filled with a sense of dread at the tale, her body shaking at the thought of such hatred. "Fitzwilliam," she appealed, reaching her hand out for the comfort of his strength. At the shaky whisper, Darcy snapped to the present, and on noticing his wife's distress, he immediately knelt before her and drew her hands into his, dipping his face to warm the cold skin with kisses, and then leaning his cheek against them as he continued.

"So the charade began. I saw how I was hurting you, but I told myself that you would understand, and that I was protecting you. But you know not how it tortured me, when all I desired was to kneel at your feet and beg you to forgive me, to take you into my arms and bury my face in your beautiful hair, to kiss every last inch of your soft skin, and to lose myself inside you." Elizabeth felt her heart pound within her chest at the yearning that blazed in the gaze that her husband fixed on her with his words. Her eyes, too, burned with love and passion – her insides fluttering at this indisputable evidence of his desire for her. How _could I have been so wrong?_ She asked herself as she reflected back on months of misery. One of her hands reached out, almost against her control, to touch Darcy's trembling lips, and she gasped when she realised that they were hot beneath her fingertips – his passion for her burning through them. She withdrew her fingers as if scalded and swallowed quickly, her eyes never leaving his as she whispered, "Continue..."

After a pause, Darcy recollected his thoughts, but his hand reached down to grasp Elizabeth's tightly, not willing to release all contact with her. "I was certain that somebody within my household was involved in the plot and was reporting on the happenings within, so I was unable to share even my nights with you... I dared not, lest the scoundrel try to hurt you."

"But I would not let go," Elizabeth whispered. "I tried to make you talk to me, and at the ball I tried to make you kiss me. I was hurt by your distance - I thought that you had tired of me, but I could not accept it. The night that you came home and we..." Elizabeth blushed at the remembrance of the passion that they had shared that night, "I believed that you must have still felt something for me, and I came down the next morning to speak to you, but..."

"Lady Catherine was there, and you stayed only long enough to hear the parts of the conversation that could wound you. You left _before_ I ordered her out of the house for speaking of you that way." Darcy shrugged. "That night, when I found you sleeping in my bed, Elizabeth, my love, I thought that I was dreaming. But then you called out my name, and I could no sooner stop myself from touching you than I could stop the sun from rising in the morning. And you gave yourself so completely to me that night. I could not allow myself to wake beside you for fear that I would tell you _everything _and destroy my best-laid plans to thwart the rogue that threatened our happiness. How it broke my heart to carry you back to your own chamber and then quit the room, when all I wanted was to lose myself in you forever."

"Fitzwilliam... if only you had..." Elizabeth murmured, lifting Darcy's hand to her lips and pressing a lingering kiss to his palm.

Darcy closed his eyes as Elizabeth's lips rested on his hand and rushed out his next words in a desperate attempt to finish his explanation. "Peter Smith had been helping Wickham by telling him what was occurring at Pemberley... I _had_ to dismiss him, even though he was forced by Wickham to assist. I thought that my heart would break when you told me that you hated me, that I was as proud and arrogant as your first impression of me." He withdrew his hand and clenched his fists at the memory of Elizabeth's words to him.

Elizabeth felt tears fill her eyes and spill hotly onto her cheeks. _How she had misjudged her husband. How she had wronged him for motives that were pure, if foolish._ "Never hated..." she whispered softly, reaching again for Darcy's clenched hand and placing it back against her lips. "I _never_ said that I hated you... I _could_ never say that, because even though I thought you cruel and heartless, I could _never_ stop loving you! If _only_ you had trusted me with the truth from the very beginning." Her sweet breath landed on his skin, and Darcy shuddered.

"Oh Elizabeth," Darcy groaned, burying his face in her lap, and feeling the sensation of her small hands lacing through his hair. "If only you knew _how many times_ I have wished that I had done things differently. Fitzwilliam warned me that it would hurt you. But you _must_ understand that it was _not _for lack of trust, Lizzie – but merely a misguided attempt to _protect_ you from unnecessary anxiety. That feels so good..." He momentarily lost track of his thoughts as Elizabeth's touch registered. Her hands in his unruly curls moved in a comforting caress.

"Anxiety?" she questioned, placing a distracted kiss into his hair.

"You had so much to deal with already, my dear – leaving Longbourn and not having your family beside you, becoming a wife and the mistress of Pemberley – how could I burden you with more? And when you were taken _despite_ my well-intended plan to push you away, I thought that I would die – in fact I did not think that I could live without you. Those days when I did not know if you would live or die were the worst days that I have ever endured. I did not sleep; I did not eat – I cared for _nothing_ but _you_!"

Elizabeth's tears were pouring down her cheeks now, her heart aching for the pain that both Darcy and she had suffered. She could not help but wish that her husband had confided in her from the very beginning; yet, she knew that she did not have it within her to resent his protection of her feelings. Now she understood her husband better than she ever had cause to before – he had spent most of his adult life making decisions for others as the master of Pemberley, the protector of the vulnerable and less fortunate – he had not yet learned to share the burden. Darcy had paid dearly for this lesson, as had Elizabeth, and it was clear that he bitterly repented his decision. "Fitzwilliam..." she murmured, taking his face between her hands, so that he looked into her tear-filled eyes.

She stood, taking his hands within hers, so that he stood also, and slowly walked over to the trunk of the tree where Darcy had sat with her in his arms such a short time ago, though it seemed that they had travelled miles of difficult road since then. She bade him sit, and Darcy, so heart sick, did not question her. When he was seated, Elizabeth climbed into his arms and rested her head against his chest, her brown eyes gazing trustingly up at him, shining with tears both shed and unshed.

Darcy stared down into her eyes and when he saw the abiding love reflecting back at him, he smiled widely. "My love, how I have missed holding you," he breathed, as he buried his face against his wife's unconstrained hair and inhaled deeply.

They no longer spoke, trust restored between them, explanations forgotten, and they just lay against each other, Elizabeth burrowing as close as she could to Darcy's muscular body, and Darcy allowing himself to bask in the pleasure of holding his wife closely within his arms. His hand picked up a long strand of Elizabeth's hair, and he placed a kiss at its end, twirling the lock around his finger as he kissed his way up to the top of her head. His other hand moved like a whisper down her soft cheek and on reaching the underside of her chin, tilted Elizabeth's face up to his. His lips lingered for sweet moments on her forehead, her eyebrows, her closed eyes and beyond, as he sipped the salty tears that had begun to dry upon her cheeks. His fingers moved to stroke the tender skin where her neck met the curve of her shoulder, then moved tenderly to trace her collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Elizabeth sighed as his soft lips touched the back of her ear and travelled slowly down her neck, and their breathing became rapid with ardour building between them. As Darcy would have placed his lips upon hers for a kiss, Elizabeth remembered herself and breathed her next enquiry, wanting everything to be clear between them before their passions took them too far. "What of the mistress?"

She smiled slightly at his passionate response between kisses to her temple and eyelids. "What woman... could compare... to MY wife... my woman... my only love... the only woman that I could _ever_... wish to share my bed?" Elizabeth could not help but be distracted by the havoc that Darcy was playing on her senses; her hands came up to clasp the cloth at his neck in an iron grip.

"Stop..." she reproved somewhat playfully, as she pulled her face away from his devastating lips. "I cannot think when you... ohhh," she sighed, ceasing suddenly, as his lips nipped her ear. But Darcy pulled back with a grin. "What were you saying?" he asked seriously.

Elizabeth inhaled deeply and spoke uncertainly, "Truly... you have no mistress?"

"I promise you, Elizabeth... that there is no mistress, and I shall never take up with one. My cousin Anne invented the story in its entirety – it was SHE who ordered Wickham to kill you. She masterminded it all."

Elizabeth could not even express a degree of shock – too many revelations had been forthcoming this hour. "And Covington Manor...?"

"Is yours. I bought it for you so that you could have something of your very own!" His lips commenced an exploration of her hand.

Tears slipped down Elizabeth's cheeks at Darcy's thoughtfulness, and as suddenly as it had lifted, her exhaustion came crashing back, her body succumbing to fatigue. Now that all was at an end, her body wanted nothing more than to rest in the security of her husband's love for her.

"I must get you back to the house, Lizzie. You are exhausted," Darcy spoke, standing quickly and placing a kiss against Elizabeth's lips. He, too, should have been fatigued after days of punishing riding, but he bore the burden of his beloved with no sign of it, his heart filled with tenderness as he viewed her sleepy eyes as she fought to stay awake.

During the walk to their home, they spoke little, but when they did, it was not of the heartbreak that they had endured throughout their separation, but of the love that would help them overcome it all. And it was thus that they arrived back at the house a little over thirty minutes later, a glow of love heating each of their faces, and they could do nothing but smile as Georgiana and Jane looked upon them in astonishment.

* * *

Anne watched through the window as Darcy came across the grass with the intruder in his arms. She felt a deep rage swell within her chest, made worse by the long time that she had spent with Bingley hounding her every move. There had been no chance of escape – not with Georgiana's instruction that no carriage was to be ordered for anybody within the house. The servants were too loyal to the Darcys to defy the master's sister.

Now she was forced to watch as Elizabeth clung like a limpet to Darcy's shirt, and he held her in his arms as if he actually desired her to be there. Georgiana and the other Bennet sister went out to greet Darcy and Elizabeth, and Anne felt herself unable to contain her rage any longer.

Before Bingley could stop her, she rushed out into the hallway and at Darcy and Elizabeth. "What are you doing?" she shrieked, her words directed at Elizabeth. "You would demean yourself by forgiving a philanderer who keeps a mistress not an hour's ride from your home?"

Elizabeth went pale, her face losing every inch of colour at the sight of the woman who had caused her and her family so much pain. She felt herself sliding out of Darcy's arms to stand, as he stepped in front of her. "You think to protect her do you?" Anne screamed, her rage incensed by her cousin's obvious concern for his wife. "How can you demean yourself by sharing a bed with THAT country wench?"

"Do not ever refer to my wife as such again. She is worth one thousand of YOU!" His fists clenched, and Darcy wanted nothing more than to strangle his cousin with his bare hands, but Elizabeth's small hands held his arms securely.

"Fitzwilliam, do not lower yourself by allowing her to bait you so. The authorities can deal with her, and we can be at peace." Darcy visibly calmed as his wife's words washed over him, and Anne could do nothing but glare in hatred at them both. Elizabeth stepped out from behind her husband and spoke calmly, though her body trembled from exhaustion. "I never did anything to harm you, Miss De Bourgh. I do not understand the source of this hatred. How could you be so cruel as to try to have me killed?"

"Elizabeth..." Darcy warned, stepping close to his wife.

Anne's gaze shot fire at her nemesis, so calm in the presence of one so far above her. "You do not deserve him," she spat. "He was to be mine! He was always meant for me."

"My husband would never have married you, Miss De Bourgh. He does not love you... and if I have learned _anything _about him during our acquaintance, it is that Fitzwilliam would never have married without love." Elizabeth looked at her husband and met his eyes, her gaze imparting to him her complete trust in his character and his love for her.

Lost as they were in each other's gaze, neither reacted quickly enough as Anne De Bourgh screeched like a wild animal and rushed at Elizabeth, her only desire to scratch her eyes out. The occupants of the room stood as though frozen, mouths agape with shock, as if the scene were playing out slowly before them. Bingley moved forward from his position by the door of the library to try to restrain her; Georgiana and Jane shrunk backwards, and Darcy pushed Elizabeth behind him to protect her from attack. "No," Elizabeth screamed, as Anne's talon-like fingernails sliced into Darcy's neck, blood instantly seeping from the wounds.

Before Darcy could react, Elizabeth, in a moment of passionate anger against the woman that had caused her and her husband so much pain, stepped out from behind Darcy, exposing herself to the enraged Anne, who was fighting to continue her attack. She pushed Anne away with all of her strength, but that woman would not be thwarted, and she quickly recovered herself and rushed back towards Elizabeth, her claws readied. Bingley finally reached Anne and held her back as he attempted to control her, arms flailing in Elizabeth's direction, bloody murder reflected in her every movement. Elizabeth heard the bloodcurdling shrieks of the woman gone mad, and took a deep breath in relief that she was now restrained. She looked upon the woman that had tried to have her killed and was revolted. Anne's eyes bulged, and spittle projected from her mouth in her enraged state, her cruel words reverberating through Elizabeth's pounding head – and they were words to which no lady should be subjected. Briefly, Elizabeth wondered where a genteel, sickly lady had had cause to learn such words. She turned to look at her husband, who clutched his neck where sharp fingernails had maimed him, and filled with ragefor her husband, Elizabeth stepped towards Anne, with eyes flashing fire.

Elizabeth swung her hand back and with all of the force that she could muster in her condition, brought it down upon the woman's cheek, satisfied when Anne's shock halted her incessant screaming.

"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth murmured, as dizziness overcame her, her eyes rolling back, and then she fainted into the arms of her alarmed husband.

_I hope you enjoyed. Please review._


	29. Chapter 29

_Thanks to Gayle for her invaluable BETA-ing of my work!_

**Chapter 29**

By the time Darcy had carried Elizabeth above stairs to her chamber, with Mrs Reynolds following in his wake, she had woken.

"Shall I call for the doctor, Sir?" the concerned housekeeper asked, as she looked in concern at the pale mistress.

"Yes, please do, Mrs Reynolds, and then have Elizabeth's maid prepare her a bath." Mrs Reynolds curtsied and left the room in order to carry out her master's instructions.

When they were alone, Darcy looked down upon his wife's face, only to find her staring up at his own. "Anne is evil, Fitzwilliam. Are you hurt?" she whispered, her lower lip quivering in distress. Her fingers reached up to tenderly trace the deep scratch marks on his neck.

"Oh that?" Darcy spoke, his tone dismissive. "It is nothing, Elizabeth. I am only concerned for you. How are you feeling? I fear that all of this has exhausted you. Mrs Reynolds will have Doctor Winters here as soon as possible."

"I do not need the doctor, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth sparked up. "I have had enough of doctors to last me a lifetime." Darcy gently settled her on the edge of the bed, and rose to stand in front of her, his expression stern.

"Nevertheless, Doctor Winters _will_ be examining you; I will take no chances with your health, Elizabeth." Darcy smiled as Elizabeth sullenly puffed out a breath, causing the loose hair surrounding her face to blow upwards. Her pout was adorable; how he had missed seeing it. "What in heaven's name caused you to act so rashly as to put yourself in harm's way?" His tone reproached, the fear for his beloved's safety forcing the harsh words. "You _knew_ that Anne wanted to harm you, yet you stepped out from my protection and placed yourself in danger; you could have been seriously injured." Darcy repented the reproof as soon as he saw the sad tears fill Elizabeth's eyes; her mouth opened to speak, yet no sound emerged.

"Oh Lizzie, I must apologise. I did not mean to be harsh, but you must understand my concern for you." He knelt in front of her and took both of her hands in his, covering them in kisses.

"She hurt you..." Elizabeth breathed the words out, as her tears dripped slowly onto their joined hands. She removed her hands from his and traced a finger gently over his neck, then bent her head to kiss the wounds. "How could I stand back and watch her harm my husband?" She said in a small trembling voice that demonstrated her vulnerability.

Darcy groaned as he wrapped strong arms around Elizabeth's waist and rested his head against her chest. Elizabeth shuddered, sobbing as her arms clutched his head, and tucked her face into his neck. "I do not mean to cry..." she said between desperate gasps for breath. "I just... this morning... there was so much cause to grieve... but now... you are here with me... I am in your arms..." Her fingers clutched at his hair and Darcy held her even more firmly, each attempting to come as close to their beloved as was possible.

"You love me... none of what went before matters... we can be together... I love you..." Elizabeth spoke quickly, her words almost rushing together in her attempt to express all the emotional upheaval that she was feeling.

"I love you with a passion that I cannot even put into words, Lizzie." Darcy's words muffled against Elizabeth's chest. "You know not how I have wished that I had never made you cry, had never acted so foolishly as to not confide in you. How can I ever make amends?" The gaze that he fixed on Elizabeth, sent a stabbing pain through her heart. Her husband was so tormented, his brown eyes like transparent pools, a depth reflected within that told her that he would not forgive himself readily for his actions.

"Hush, my darling... there is nothing left to apologize for. You must know that I..." Her words caught in her throat as the exquisite feeling of Darcy's lips on her hand washed over her, and Elizabeth felt the heat of a deep blush suffuse her delicate throat. Like a whisper the sweeping touches of his mouth explored her fingers, a strong slow pulse filled her body as her eyes closed, and her lips opened on a deep sigh. The moisture of his tongue seemed to scald Elizabeth's skin as Darcy gently suckled the tip of each elegant finger.

"What you do to me..." she breathed unsteadily, as her fingers began to tremble under his passionate attentions.

Darcy glanced up as if surprised that Elizabeth had spoken, as if surprised that he had let his desires overwhelm his reason. So caught up was he in his rapt attentions to his wife's delectable skin, the feel of her trembling passion, the sight of her pale skin laced with the deep blue rivers of her veins, and the taste of her sweetness, that he had heard her adoring words and forgotten himself.

Refusing to relinquish the hold of Elizabeth's hand, Darcy grasped it between his own, and his gaze met hers, both anguish and passion struggling within him to reign supreme over his actions. He knew that he had to tell her how he was feeling – he had to try to make her understand why he was guilty, even though the angelic Elizabeth had so far refused to attribute the blame to him.

"I put that which was most dear to me in danger. I put an innocent child in danger. I was not there when those scoundrels beat you – I could not even comfort you in your distress." His shoulders visibly drooped as Darcy stood from his position in front of his wife, dejection oozing from every pore.

"I failed you as a husband and a protector Elizabeth. I am not worthy of you."

Elizabeth rose from the bed, every inch the avenging goddess, the colour rising in her cheeks as she admonished Darcy, "Do not..." her voice emerged, and she flinched at the volume. She closed her eyes briefly as she tempered her tone, then stepped towards the retreating back of her husband, the very image of dejection.

"Do not ever..." her hands trembled as she placed them onto his shoulders, "say that again. You are more than worthy of me, the best man I know. You cannot be responsible for the reprehensible acts of my brother and your cousin."

Darcy raised his head slightly, the gentle and forgiving words soothing and filling him with some comfort – at least his beautiful wife still believed in him. _God knows, I have done nothing to deserve it_, he thought.

"How can you be so forgiving, Lizzie? You truly must be an angel," his voice struggled out, every inch of his being grateful for the love of such a woman.

The sound of her laughter suddenly filled the room, a sound all but forgotten by the halls of Pemberley for such long weeks, and those who heard it now rejoiced in the happy sound. Darcy felt his eyes close and a deep happiness swirl through his soul at the discovery that Elizabeth still had such joy in her that she could laugh – a sound he so very much desired to hear every moment for the rest of his life.

"An angel... surely you jest, sir? Mayhap you speak of my sister Jane. Should I fetch her for you?" Elizabeth slowly slid her hands down the back of Darcy's shoulders, feeling his muscles tense with her touch, and then encircled his waist. Her face pressed against his strong back, and she tightened her hold on her husband.

"Do not move, woman," Darcy groaned as his hands came up to cover Elizabeth's. "I did not mean that your sister was an angel, though I believe Bingley imagines it is so. _You_, my dear, are _my_ angel. I believe that you will save me."

"You do not need saving," Elizabeth whispered, reaching up to stand on the tips of her toes so that she could place a kiss on the clothed shoulder blade, her lips remaining there as a silent show of her love and support for her husband. Darcy groaned in pleasure at the contact – the feeling of his wife's breasts pressed securely against his back, the sweet scent of her drifting around him, her loose curls tickling his neck – proving to be too much. All Darcy wanted right now was to turn around, take Elizabeth in his arms, and set about rediscovering their love and passion for each other that had been too long absent from their lives.

But he could not! He _must_ not! For even now Elizabeth trembled against him, her body and soul worn from the trying events of the day. He could feel the gentle tremor in her hands beneath his that she was trying too hard to hide. And not an hour earlier, Elizabeth had fainted in his arms. Darcy's mind flew back to the moment when he had found her out in the mist, the way she had fought him with every ounce of strength that she possessed – so distraught, so angry, so lovely. He thanked heaven that Elizabeth had listened to him, had believed him with a faith that took him unawares – after everything he had put her through, such faith surely was undeserved.

Doctor Winters, accompanied by Mrs. Reynolds, chose this point to knock discreetly on the door to Elizabeth's chamber. The sight before him was heartening, the love between husband and wife burning throughout the room. He was almost sorry to intrude on the private moment. Mr and Mrs Darcy quickly looked up and started, moving quickly away from one another. A deep crimson coloured Elizabeth's cheeks as she collected herself, her eyes unfocussed and glassy from the recent intimate contact with her husband.

Darcy strode forward to greet the doctor, unable to keep at bay the slight smile that played around his lips. _The memory of Elizabeth's arms surrounding him would cause any man to smile_, he excused himself.

"What seems to be the problem?" Doctor Winters asked pointedly, after greeting the couple. Darcy explained what had occurred that day, ending with Elizabeth's faint, his concern for his wife's health palpable in the confines of the room.

"You also appear to have been maimed," Doctor Winters spoke, his gaze moving to Darcy's neck, the angry scratches covered with dried blood. "That is nothing. It is my wife that prompts my concern," Darcy dismissed.

"I will treat your wounds, and then I will examine Mrs Darcy," Doctor Winters insisted. Elizabeth smiled smugly at Darcy from across the room. If she had to suffer a doctor's examination, then it was only fair for him to also share in the discomfort.

* * *

After Doctor Winters had departed, with his reassurances that Elizabeth was not ill, merely exhausted and in dire need of rest and relaxation, Darcy and Elizabeth were alone. In the outer chamber, the maids, under the strict instruction of Mrs Reynolds, were busy preparing the mistress's bath, their quiet movements and the slow ticking of the mantle clock, the only sounds apart from the heavy breathing of the occupants within.

From across the room, eyes met, liquid pools of tenderness, as husband and wife stood apart. The tension was thick, as everything else melted away, an invisible cord coiling between them. No words were spoken as finally Darcy held open his arms, willing Elizabeth to come to him, and in no more than a few seconds, she was there, completely engulfed within her husband's large frame.

Darcy felt Elizabeth's small body tremble in his arms, clothed merely in her chemise after the doctor's examination. His lips found her hair and placed endless kisses there, his arms holding her upright as he felt her deep sigh of exhaustion against his chest. "I thank God that it is all over, my Lizzie. I thank God that you are here in my arms. If you had died, Lizzie..." Darcy stopped, unable to continue for the pain that shot through him at the thought.

"Hush," Elizabeth whispered, cold fingers pressing against his lips to stop any further admonishments. "Just hold me." If it even were possible, Darcy's arms tightened further, and Elizabeth nestled closer into his embrace. They remained as one being, never speaking, their hearts slowing and beating the same cadence, as finally the couple could exist together in quiet appreciation of all they had reclaimed.

* * *

"I have dismissed your maids, Elizabeth. _I_ will attend to your bath this night," Darcy murmured. He stopped in front of her and took both her hands within his, leading her to the outer room where her bath was waiting.

"Fitzwilliam... you do not need to..." Elizabeth breathed, her eyes fixed on him, as she moved compliantly, willing to follow him anywhere he should care to lead. Her chemise, almost translucent in the firelight, billowed around her with every step she took, and Darcy could not force himself to look away.

This time, his fingers covered her rosebud lips to stop them. He wanted to hear none of her protests. "I will not have it any other way." He smiled and turned Elizabeth to face the bath, standing closely behind her, hands atop her shoulders. "My lady, your bath awaits."

Nimble fingers made quick work of Elizabeth's chemise and in a short moment, she stood before him, naked, as Darcy gallantly offered his hand to assist her into the hot bath. Elizabeth smiled shyly, her emotions tremulous, as her husband valiantly tried not to stare at her unclothed body.

When she sat in the soothing water, Elizabeth could do nothing but sigh in appreciation of the relaxation that she had already begun to feel. Her eyes closed as she rested her head on a folded cloth placed against the end of the bath. For precious seconds the only sound was the rippling of the water as it settled around her, and her limbs were languid as she calmed, the trials of the day momentarily forgotten. Her eyes popped open at the feeling of Darcy's hands in her long hair, as he sought the wayward pins that had done little to keep the heavy length confined. The quiet sound of the pins hitting the floor was just audible above Elizabeth's breathing.

"Your hair is beautiful, Lizzie..." Darcy buried his face into the unrestrained tresses of her thick, dark hair, taking a long breath, as if to memorize her scent. This night was one which he wanted to have imprinted into his memory for all the years of his life – the night when a new understanding was reached – a new depth of love attained. He wished never to lose the vision of his sparkling, beautiful Elizabeth luxuriating in a warm bath, as he attended her.

With a shaky breath, Darcy lifted the soapy sponge, scented with roses and apples – the scent of her. His voice sounded deeply and huskily as he bade her sit forward, and his fingers trembled as he pushed her hair over her bandaged shoulder and ran the sponge over Elizabeth's back, the perfect line of her spine, the curve of her waist – her skin like satin. A lone curl fell across her long neck as her head lolled forward in exquisite contentment. Darcy leaned into her, his breath falling gently on the delicate skin of her nape, before pressing a light kiss there, lingering too long, threatening his control.

To distract himself from the sheer sensuality of his task, Darcy took the end of the bandage that supported Elizabeth's injured shoulder and unwrapped it. He gasped slightly as he saw the remaining bruise that marred her perfect skin, dragging his eyes away from it to continue his task.

Elizabeth found her trembling beginning anew at the sensations that Darcy was provoking. The sponge moved to her waist, then lower, dipping into her belly button, before beginning a journey back up her body to the soft rise of her breasts. The languor that she had been feeling was replaced by desire, as the sponge lingered too long – as if it were Darcy's warm, capable hands covering her skin – she trembled in the imagining of it.

Darcy could not help but allow just one finger to run alongside the sponge, the temptation of all her womanly curves too much for him to resist. His breathing was laboured as Elizabeth's body awoke to his provocation. And he found himself humbled that she could still desire him. Remembering himself, and his resolution to ensure that Elizabeth was fully recovered from her exhaustion before making her again his, Darcy reluctantly removed his hands from her body and handed her the sponge. "I think you should finish this..." he whispered against her ear and was rewarded by the gentle tremor that ran through her at his words.

Elizabeth turned glassy eyes on Darcy, and gazed at him, her love bathing him in her radiance. Her full lips were rosy and parted as he leaned down to cover them with his own. Elizabeth exhaled on a soft sigh of contentment – finally she was where she belonged. Their joined lips moved as one, both igniting and revering – the act sacred to the couple, even the more due to their recent estrangement.

Had not a quiet knock at the door broken them apart that very moment, Darcy was not sure that he could have stopped himself from lifting Elizabeth out of the bath and carrying her to bed. But the arrival of the fresh water for her hair brought him to his senses – senses that had been bewitched by the loveliness of his wife. So instead of doing what he so desired – had desired – for so many weeks, Darcy gently placed his hands into Elizabeth's hair and washed it, massaging her scalp with sure, strong hands, and finishing by carefully rinsing the soapy remnants from her.

"That feels wonderful," her murmured words danced in the air between them, and Elizabeth wished that the sweet torment would never end. Yet all too soon, Darcy was lifting her from the bath, the water gushing and running like rivulets over her naked skin. With a soft towel, he dried every inch of her skin, assisted her to don her nightgown, and then led her willing body towards the fire, where the maids had laid out a tray of fruit.

Darcy encouraged Elizabeth to eat, although her languorous body protested, wanting nothing more than to curl up in front of the fire, like a contented kitten, and sleep. Darcy placed a fresh towel to Elizabeth's hair and began the arduous task of drying the ample length, his eyes fixed lovingly on her sleepy figure. He watched delightedly as she partook of the food, and could not remove his eyes from the molten depths of hers.

No longer heated, their gazes were the picture of devotion, the crackling of the fire, the soft ticking of the clock, adding to the ambience of the secluded outer chamber. Elizabeth belatedly realised that her shoulder was heavy and pained her – the events of the day already had become hazy in her unfocused mind – unconsciously she cradled it with her right arm. Through what seemed a dense mist, Elizabeth thought that Darcy spoke to her, his face urgent, but she could not make sense of it. Instead of struggling to force her mind to concentrate, Elizabeth merely shook her head and placed it against his chest, sighing as her hands came up to clutch the thin fabric of his shirt.

She felt the world tilt as Darcy lifted her into his arms, and then came the awareness of the softness of her mattress beneath her fatigued body. Still she clutched his shirt, unwilling to let Darcy go, though at this moment, uncertain why she felt such an urgent need for him to stay.

"Do not leave me..." Elizabeth murmured, turning tear-filled brown eyes upon her retreating husband. His hands covered hers in an attempt to unclasp them from his person.

"Fitzwilliam, please... I want you to stay." Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, her thoughts so confused.

Darcy smiled down at Elizabeth, bending to kiss her forehead and then her lips. "My love, I am not going anywhere. I just need to close the door and remove my boots."

She released him then, but reached an arm out as he walked quickly to the door, needing to stay as close as possible. And by the time the mattress beside her dipped to the weight of her husband, Elizabeth had fallen into a much-needed slumber.

Darcy pulled the sleeping body of his wife into his arms and watched her as her head nestled into his chest, offering a prayer of thanks as he cherished the sensation of having his beloved with him again.

TBC...

_Please review!_


	30. Chapter 30

**Sorry that the new chapter took a while - I had writer's block. Thanks to Gayle for all her corrections and putting up with me, and to Wendi for helping me with the block. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 30**

Elizabeth awoke from a peaceful slumber, her body tingling from the recollection of Darcy's arms surrounding her throughout the night, having slept better than she had for a long time, secure in his embrace. Her eyes blinked open reluctantly, but a smile adorned her face at the memory of the previous night – the love that her husband had professed, his tenderness as he had bathed her, the kisses that they had shared.

She languorously stretched her entire body, a soft yawn escaping her, as she turned to face the side of the bed so recently occupied by her husband. For a moment, Elizabeth was disconcerted by his absence, but then, as she viewed the tokens left on his pillow, she recalled his husky whispers to her earlier this morning as he told her he did not want to leave her. She felt the heat from his lips on her flushed cheeks, and she moved a hand up to cup the same cheek that he had last kissed.

Smiling, Elizabeth sat up in bed, reaching over to pick up the small gift that adorned the pillow, and reverently unfolding the note that accompanied it.

"_My beautiful Elizabeth,_

_I am sorrier than you can ever know that I will not be by your side to see you awake this morning. You must know how profoundly I wish that I could be holding you in my arms at his very moment. Alas, I must deal swiftly with my cousin—I do not wish for her to be at Pemberley any longer than she must._

_I shall return mid afternoon from engaging the magistrate, and I will be counting the hours until I can look upon you again. In the meantime, please accept this inadequate token of my love._

_Always yours,_

_Fitzwilliam"_

Elizabeth pressed her lips to the note and, with trembling fingers, opened the small package that her husband had left for her. She fingered the delicate gold combs that lay within, adorned with globes of gold filigree detail, and embedded with tiny emeralds. Her eyes filled with tears at the love expressed through the giving of this beautiful gift, and instantly she pushed the combs into her loose curls, warmed within by the thought of his care in choosing a gift so well suited to her. She only wished that Darcy were there beside her this moment so that she could thank him properly for his thoughtfulness.

* * *

When Elizabeth came below stairs, having taken extra care with her appearance, it was mid-afternoon, and her heart thundered within her chest at the thought that Darcy would soon be beside her.

However, before his return, Elizabeth had something of great import to accomplish, even though the thought of it filled her with dread. She had not seen her sister since the day in her chamber when Elizabeth had turned her away – the cruel words that she had said, the accusations that she had made played heavily upon her mind. Never before had Elizabeth treated her angelic sister in such a manner, never before had they had cause to fight – and now Elizabeth found herself in the unfamiliar position of having to apologise to her sister. Her thoughts swung from guilt for what she had said to Jane, to sorrow for the pain that it must have caused a sister who despised conflict so thoroughly. Elizabeth knew that she had much to atone for, at least if she would be able to forgive herself – and she knew that had she only listened to Jane that day, so much of her suffering could have been avoided.

Therefore, a mere half hour later, Jane Bingley found herself entering her sister's private parlour, her relief almost palpable in the quiet room as she looked upon Elizabeth, who awaited her by the fire. "Oh my dearest, darling Jane. I cannot begin to express how sorry I am," Elizabeth spoke huskily from across the room, tentatively holding out her hands to her sister, while knowing that Jane had every right to refuse them.

Her anxiety was groundless, as the next moment, in a swish of skirts, Jane was in front of her, ignoring her outstretched hands; instead Elizabeth found herself in her sister's embrace, their arms clinging tenderly to each other.

When they pulled back, Elizabeth took Jane's hands within her own and drew her down to sit beside her on the settee. "Lizzie, I am so relieved that you are recovered," Jane sobbed. "You _are_ recovered, are you not?"

"I am well Jane, I promise you. My shoulder still pains me, I expect that the stressful activities of yesterday caused it to throb more than usual, though Mrs Reynolds wrapped it herself this morning, and it is feeling better. My few remaining bruises are fading more every day. Doctor Winters said that deep bruising such as mine can take months to disappear completely." Elizabeth touched her shoulder gingerly as she spoke, testing it for the pain that she still expected.

"I should have been there for you, Lizzie. You should not have been all alone while you were recovering. I should not have upset you." Jane placed one cool hand on Elizabeth's cheek, a familiar gesture of sisterly love.

"Jane, it was my own fault that I was alone. I refused to see either you or my husband. For what I said to you... and indeed to him... I deserved to suffer alone." She took Jane's hand in her own and kissed it affectionately, her eyes briefly shadowed by the darkness of the memories that she was inciting.

Then Elizabeth smiled as the moment passed. "There, we need not speak of that again, except to say that I should have listened to you, my wise Jane, and I am truly sorry that I upset you."

"Then all is well between Darcy and yourself, Lizzie?" Jane asked quietly, needing to hear the words of confirmation that her sister was happy. Elizabeth nodded, a happy glow lighting her face. "You read his letters then?"

Elizabeth frowned, her memory stirred at the mention of these letters. _Had not Darcy asked her that day at the pianoforte if she had read them? _His voice came to her, an agony of suffering in his tone, as he had ground out the words after she had again rejected his advances. _"You must have read the letters?"_

"Lizzie?" Jane's concerned voice dragged Elizabeth back to the present, and she frowned in confusion.

"What letters?" she asked.

"The ones that Darcy wrote to you while he was perpetrating that dreadful ruse. You did read them, Lizzie? He said that he was going to give them to you, and in fact, I am sure that I saw him take them into your room one night." Jane's voice had become urgent as she noted Elizabeth's continued confusion. "You did not read them then?" she continued. "Then how did you... I mean, how is it that you are... happy?"

"Darcy explained everything to me – it was after Miss De Bourgh came to me and told me that he had a mistress and convinced me that it was true." Jane gasped in shock, her blue eyes widening in alarm, the very picture of innocence. "Do not worry, darling Jane. After I ran away, stubbornly determined to leave Pemberley forever, yet so ill-prepared, he came after me, and he made me listen to all of his explanations. Now all is well; I believe I am happier than I have ever been." Elizabeth's eyes took on a misty, distant hue, and her lips turned up slightly at the thought of her beloved.

"I can see that you are the happiest of women, Lizzie, and I am relieved to hear it. I was beginning to think that your stubbornness and Darcy's aloofness would come between you forever," Jane teased.

"Yes, you know enough of our characters, especially mine, to believe that to be possible. And to think that it almost did tear us apart. Do not fear, dearest Jane, for Darcy and I have determined to never keep anything from one another again – from this moment onward, we have resolved to be open and honest and love each other completely for the rest of our lives." She laughed happily as she teased her sister.

"I am glad to hear it, Lizzie."

Elizabeth determined within herself to find the whereabouts of the aforementioned letters.

"Now tell me what has been happening with you and Bingley?" She moved the conversation to Jane, and the two women spent a lovely afternoon sharing intimacies, giggling like young girls and teasing each other, their bodies curled up together on the settee.

* * *

"What have you done?" Lady Catherine De Bourgh stood over her daughter, disdain dripping from every feature. She had arrived at Pemberley in the late afternoon, accompanied by Colonel Fitzwilliam, to find Anne confined to a guest room, door locked, with Mr Bingley standing guard outside the door and two servants within.

Lady Catherine was still reeling – she could hardly credit that her simpering daughter who had never shown that she had so much as a determined bone in her body, could invent such a scheme, to say nothing of being able to carry it out. Yet now, she had plotted not only to remove Elizabeth Bennett from her cousin's life, but to do so in the most reprehensible way – by having her killed.

Even Lady Catherine had finally admitted the truth to herself those long weeks ago, when Darcy had thrown her unceremoniously out of his house. She knew then that Darcy was lost to them; he would never be Anne's. For as much as he had tried to mislead her at their meeting, Darcy had not been able to fool his aunt – he was more than infatuated with Elizabeth; he was obsessed—passionately and permanently engaged. And as much as she hated to admit it, Lady Catherine had always admired the dignity and liveliness with which Elizabeth conducted herself.

Lady Catherine's eyes sparked with furious fire, taken aback by the hateful look that was directed back at her. "I did only what I must." The words were soft, yet laced with a cruelty that Anne, the master of disguise, had successfully hidden for most of her life, until now.

"Why would you kill her, you stupid girl? I could have helped you to secure a husband at least as eligible as Darcy. You could have had everything."

"It was your fault," her daughter accused, her disdain and lack of remorse frightening in its intensity. "You promised me Darcy; you promised me that I would be mistress of Pemberley. Instead I had to rot at Rosings, always simpering to your demands, paying court to your every requirement. That was no life – I could no longer stand by and watch you pretend to have my best interests at heart, but do nothing to achieve them. Did you expect that I would always sit by your side, paying undeserved attention to that simpering Mr Collins and my insipid companion, never allowed to go to town unless visiting my cousin Georgiana, never to meet anyone of interest?" Anne moved to stand, and while smaller and less imposing than her mother, the blackness in her heart shrunk Lady Catherine to nothingness. Finally their roles were reversed as Lady Catherine staggered backwards in shock, her mouth agape as she tried desperately to find the words that she wanted to say.

Finally she succeeded, and the words surprised her as much as Colonel Fitzwilliam who stood quietly at the door. "How could you have left any gently born lady - any _woman _for that matter... to the devices of those scoundrels? How could you wish such suffering on _anyone_, no matter how they had wronged you? The only thing Elizabeth Bennett ever did to either of us was to thwart our plans; it was hardly her fault that your cousin fell in love with her."

"CEASE!" The bloodcurdling scream that issued from Anne's lips, the fury in her eyes as she looked upon her mother, made every occupant of the room shrink back in fear. "You have betrayed me. Get out!"

Darcy entered the room at that moment, his eyes assessing the scene before him, and he and Colonel Fitzwilliam rushed to the side of their aunt who was more broken than they had ever imagined she could be.

"I wash my hands of you, Madam. You are no longer my daughter." To Darcy she said, "Do with her what you will." Her eyes filled with something akin to remorse as Anne, not content to remain silent, spoke contemptuously back at her.

"Fitzwilliam will look after me. He will send off that silly country whore and give me my rightful place beside him." Her voice softened as she moved towards Darcy. "Nothing stands in our way now, does it, dearest?" Her fingers touched his arm, in an attempt to caress him, as if it were her right to do so, and Darcy felt his skin crawl with revulsion.

He lifted Anne's offending hand in his own firm grasp and dropped it, the words that he now uttered the last that he would ever address to her."Do not refer to my wife as such. You are not fit to even _speak_ her name nor to even be in the presence of one so pure. Elizabeth is the _only_ woman that I will ever love, madam. I must inform you that there was never a chance of my marrying you, cousin, even from the first meetings in our childhood. You were always sullen, insipid and unkind, yet I would never have believed that you would sink so low. Then, I felt pity for you. Now, I feel nothing... I cannot even hate you; you are not even worthy of that emotion. But know this, Madam – Elizabeth and I will live at Pemberley in utter bliss for the rest of our lives; it is thanks to you that our love has been tested and strengthened for it. While you rot in prison, or go to your fate at the gallows, Elizabeth and I will be together – always!"

His cousin's anguished cries filled the halls of Pemberley as Darcy led his aunt from the room, and Darcy knew that he may have felt pity for her had she shown any sign of the least remorse. But he could not, and he did not mourn her loss as the guards removed Anne De Bourgh from his home for the last time.

* * *

After questioning Mrs Reynolds as to the whereabouts of the letters that Darcy had written her, the housekeeper led Elizabeth back into her parlour, where her mounting correspondence had been patiently awaiting her. After a brief rummage through a smaller pile, which Mrs Reynolds informed Elizabeth to be her personal correspondence, she drew out a small stack of letters and handed them to her. "These were found trapped beneath your dresser, Mrs Darcy, when it was cleaned earlier this week. They were given to me, so I placed them with your other correspondence. Perhaps I should have given them straight to you, madam, but I did not want you to worry unnecessarily until you were fully recovered. I hope that I did not do the wrong thing?"

Elizabeth smiled at the housekeeper and assured her with true warmth that she had not done wrong. She thanked the faithful servant for taking care of her during her recovery and for managing the household while she had been unwell, and then she informed Mrs Reynolds that she would be remaining in the parlour until dinnertime and was not to be disturbed by anyone except Darcy.

Outside the window, over the grounds of Pemberley, the sun was low over the horizon, the rainbow of pinks and oranges casting a dreamlike quality over the room that was warmed by the fire. Elizabeth stood at the window, lost in contemplation of the beauty before her, and stroking the parchment of the letters that she held in her hand, imagining the words that she would read, though with no real idea what they would contain or how profoundly they would affect her.

When Elizabeth opened the first letter, her eyes alighting on Darcy's unmistakable print, she gasped at the words that seemed to batter her with their intensity. With one hand clutching the letter and the other covering her mouth to stop its trembling as she read the first intense lines of his epistle, Elizabeth collapsed onto the settee in front of the fire, her eyes moving rapidly over the page.

_My Darling Wife,_

_I know not how much longer I shall have to keep up this ridiculous farce. However I cannot bear to go any longer without at least writing to you of the things in my heart that I would say to you if I could..._

In line after line, the letter conveyed Darcy's love and tormented feelings. From the moment that he had made the decision to pretend not to care for Elizabeth, his emotions had been written in his letters to her, and Elizabeth found herself unable to stop until she had devoured every word.

_I confess that I have been stealing into your chamber in the early hours of the morning, when you are sound asleep, if only to assure myself that you are still there and are well. How I have longed to wrap you into my arms and hold you, to wipe the remnants of tears and hurt and heartbreak from your lovely face. You were never meant to cry, Lizzie; you were created to laugh, and it tortures me that I have brought you to tears on more than one occasion._

Her eyes filled as she read the last, as she realised the truth of this. How many nights had she felt his presence and imagined it to be just a dream? How many times had she opened her eyes and thought that the scent of him lingered above her? For a moment, Elizabeth paused, a brilliant smile illuminating her face as she thought of Darcy watching over her – his restless soul drawn to hers in the midst of the long, cold nights when they had been separated – never letting his thoughts dwell for more than a few seconds on anything but her, just as her thoughts had been with him.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, bracing herself to read the rest of the letters. Her emotions were raw as she picked up the second letter, unable to keep in check the emotions that demanded release. Her fingers trembled, tears splashing slowly down onto the ink that formed her name, the edges smudging the strong lines of Darcy's script. Words began to mingle into memories and memories into emotions, and emotions into a new understanding of what had occurred.

_Tonight you looked like a dream in your ball gown, your beauty radiant... How I wanted to take you in my arms to declare that you were mine! So ecstatic in marriage that you would never stray. I desperately desired to dance every dance with you, hold you close to my side when the dances ceased, and laugh with you in your diversions. The ball tormented me, Lizzie, you tormented me!... I desperately wanted to kiss you when you asked me in the moonlight – indeed it took every ounce of strength that I have to push you away from me. But I couldn't, Lizzie, and you will one day understand._

The night of the ball flashed back to her in painful memories, the absolute aching that she had experienced when she begged for his kiss in the garden, only to be rejected. But with these revelations, the memory lost much of its pain, and soon she recalled only the moment when she had flung those cruel words at Darcy, when they had fought. "_Well, it serves me right for believing that you were a better man than the likes of Mr Wickham. For ever believing you were anything but the proud and arrogant man that I first took you for." _Elizabeth closed her eyes as if in doing so, she could shut out the angry outburst, her regret at lashing out at her husband only increased by his own declaration.

_You cannot imagine how broken I am at this moment. My heart truly aches for us, sweetheart. I believe that we both have an equal measure of pain this night – you, because you believe that I never truly loved you – and me, because you believe that I am a cruel and selfish man and will not forgive me._

Unsure how she ever managed to focus on the mesmerising words, somehow they seemed to flood Elizabeth's senses, her heart aching for the torment that he, too had endured. Her gentle, feminine heart clenched in the knowledge that her beloved had suffered, that _she_ had intensified that suffering, and then somehow her own agony was forgotten – relegated to the past where it belonged.

Soon, the pages of all of the letters were strewn about her, and somehow Elizabeth found herself sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her in a pose not befitting the mistress of Pemberley. In that moment, Elizabeth felt herself but a child, needing nothing more than the comfort of Darcy's embrace. Her conflicting emotions rose and fought for supremacy, like thunder and lightning rising from within her and struggling to be noticed – sorrow for his pain, yearning for his love and forgiveness of her cruelty, and shame which told her she could not face him.

The sun had set behind Pemberley's treeline; the moonlight was now bright and shining through the window. Elizabeth felt as though she had lived months in the short time since she had entered the room; indeed she had relived weeks of memories in the fading day. The fire had died down to embers, the light from it becoming dim, as Elizabeth lived Darcy's emotions through his words to her, his anguish and guilt. And she knew that while he had been thus afflicted, she selfishly had been refusing to speak of her hurt. She had acted the part of a child, sullen and doubting – and in that moment, Elizabeth despised her pride. Once she had accused Darcy of being prideful, yet had she not proved herself to be worse? Had she spoken sooner, could this have been avoided? Could she have enticed her husband to tell her of his torment and share his suffering? She tortured herself with the thoughts, as her eyes scanned again and again the haunting words of his letters in the growing darkness.

_Know this, Lizzie. I would move heaven and earth for you. If I could, I would trade places with you in a moment, and if it came to a choice, I would give up my life for you, so that you could live. _

When all was at an end and Elizabeth could read no more, she rested her head on top of the letters on the floor, her mind replaying the beautifully haunting words of Darcy's letter, imagining each word a caress from him. She knew that soon she would have to find him – to beg his forgiveness for what she considered to be her insufferable pride – but now, all Elizabeth desired was to let those last words wash over her like a gentle breeze in the springtime, bringing with it the promise of new life and happiness, secure in the knowledge that nothing would ever come between them again.

* * *

Each of the occupants of Pemberley was feeling the effects of the long day. Lady Catherine had retired to her prepared room immediately following the removal of her daughter, determined to leave Pemberley tomorrow to rid her nephew and his wife of her assumed unwanted presence. Georgiana, upset by the happenings of the day, had pleaded a headache, and Bingley and Jane had asked for trays to be sent to their rooms for dinner, no doubt recognising the need for Darcy and Elizabeth to be alone.

After inquiring after his guests and the whereabouts of his wife, Darcy instructed Mrs Reynolds to have trays sent to Elizabeth's room for them, and he immediately set off to her private parlour to find her. He entered the room, his eyes searching in the dim firelight for his wife. When he saw her lying by the fire, curled up on the rug, Darcy felt his heart stop in fear for her, and he was frozen in place for what seemed like long minutes, his legs not cooperating with his will.

When he could force his body to move, Darcy breathed Elizabeth's name, rushing to her side in concern. Elizabeth sat up abruptly when she heard the anguished whisper, and as Darcy reached her, she turned her red-rimmed eyes on him, their brown depths lustrous with devotion. Instantly he caught her in his arms in a desperate move, kneeling beside her, his embrace strong and unyielding. Elizabeth's arms clung to him, and she buried her face in his chest. No words were spoken; indeed none were required as they attempted to impart all of their conflicting feelings in their embrace – love, distress, guilt, dread and desire. Elizabeth, in response to her deep-seated need, reached up and pressed her lips to Darcy's skin, moving to any part of him that she could reach—the top of his neck, his chin, his cheeks, the corner of his lips—while her small hands moved impulsively over the tense muscles of his back and down his arms. She could not get enough of him, the months of waiting and wanting and insecurity catching up to her in a rush of expression. The words of Darcy's letters, the new understanding of his feelings and his love for her, had finally culminated in an unleashing of everything that she desired from her beloved.

Darcy groaned when Elizabeth kissed him, his body and passions stirring when her small hands moved over him. Knowing deep within his heart that he should stop this and inquire after her health, and strongly suspecting that she had been crying when he had entered the room, Darcy fought the baser instincts that urged him to take everything that she was offering; and when he surrendered, Darcy truly delighted in his loss. He groaned softly, as his own hands started to move over Elizabeth's supple body, from her back where they had rested in their embrace, skirting confidently up the sides of her ribs and down again, satisfaction filling him at the tremor that ran through her at his touch. Finally his hands came up to take her face within his, stopping her kisses as his gaze lingered on her lips that were parted and flushed for him. His eyes darkened with longing as he stared down at her for lingering moments, his thumb barely moving to brush the corner of her lips, prolonging the exquisite lead up to the culmination of everything that he desired.

Elizabeth was melting, the passionate intensity of Darcy's stare and the brush of his fingers over her lips almost too much to bear. She turned slightly so that his fingers stroked the plumpness of her bottom lip, and she parted them further, willing him to kiss her. When he did, a thousand stars exploded within her – like they had never kissed before – for the answering need within Elizabeth as Darcy's lips moved upon hers was like nothing she had ever known. Her lips parted instinctively beneath his, and suddenly their tongues were tasting, lips were sipping, and hands were demanding. Elizabeth moaned softly as the kiss deepened, and she moved her body closer to Darcy, seeking a completion to the demands of her newly intensified passion.

Elizabeth found herself lying across Darcy's lap, her cheeks flushed with arousal, lips swollen and releasing uncontrolled breaths – all from their kisses. But Darcy, in a lucid moment, did not want to reclaim his wife when she had been upset just moments ago. He wished for everything to be clear between them before he demonstrated his undying passion. He closed his eyes for a moment so that he would not be tempted by the alluring, yearning gaze of Elizabeth, for then he would be lost.

When he felt that he could control his baser instincts, Darcy pulled back just enough to look down into Elizabeth's eyes, his hands moving up to frame her beloved face. "What was all this just now, dearest? Why were you lying by the fire? Why do you look as though you have been crying?" Elizabeth closed her eyes, passion vanishing as a new rush of guilt overcame her. Now she believed that she was entirely to blame for everything that had happened – she should have had more faith in him, she should have put aside her wretched pride.

"I found your letters..." she whispered, moving off his lap and onto the rug, drawing his attention to the disarray of pages surrounding them.

"I did wonder what had become of them, Elizabeth. I wrote them so that I could feel closer to you, and so that one day, you would understand that I did not stop thinking of you for one moment of the time I pushed you away." Darcy took Elizabeth's hands as they knelt before one another on the softness of the rug. "But they were not supposed to make you sad, my Lizzie."

She swallowed a sob, the recently evoked passion mixed with open adoration in his eyes as he gazed upon her almost her undoing. "I was so wrong, Fitzwilliam. How can I ever forgive myself for my pride and those dreadful things that I said of you? I all but accused you of having a mistress, of being hateful, arrogant, and a malicious pretender." Darcy tried to speak, but Elizabeth placed her hand over his mouth to stop him. "And the worst part of all this was that I truly _believed_ it. I showed almost no faith in you – oh, at first, I tried to explain away your disinterest. I tried not to allow myself to misjudge you, but in that I failed spectacularly. I do not know how you can even bear to look at me." Elizabeth hung her head, miserable in her guilt.

To her surprise, Darcy chuckled before leaning forward to place a quick kiss on her forehead. "I was only surprised, my darling girl, that it took you so long to challenge my inexcusable behaviour. For a time I wondered where the forthright, if sometimes impertinent, woman that I married had vanished to." He smiled, and then continued in a more serious vein, "I cannot tell you that what you said to me did not hurt me – for it was meant to hurt – and so it did. But Lizzie, I _provoked_ it, even expected it, and _truly_ deserved it. The worst punishment for my behaviour was being unable to claim my right to be beside you when you most needed it. You can have no concept of how I wanted to be with you, supporting you, offering you my comfort and my love." His hands stroked up and down Elizabeth's arms.

She whispered, over the large lump that seemed to have lodged itself in her throat, the sting of tears prickling behind her eyes at the memory, "Trust me, I wanted it, too. I wished that you would charge into my chamber and take me in your arms and refuse to let me go, no matter how much I protested. If it was not for my..." This time, Darcy placed his fingers over Elizabeth's lips.

"Then we _both_ suffered. But now, we must forge ahead – we must endeavour to forget the times when we were apart, and we must stop blaming ourselves. Though we may have made some ill-considered choices, we cannot change that – and we are still here, together. I will never exclude you from any of the decisions that will affect our lives again, Lizzie, and you must _promise_ to speak to me if you ever have worries or anxieties, no matter what they may be." Darcy stroked the back of his hand down Elizabeth's cheek and then under her chin to tip her face up to meet his. "Yes?" he asked when their eyes met.

Elizabeth merely nodded, glowing with a warmth that came from within. "Your words were beautiful, Fitzwilliam. I feel now almost as if we never were apart."

"There is something that I must do." Darcy stood in a flash and before Elizabeth could even blink, he had gone from the room. Astonished, she turned to gather the pages of his letters in her hands, unsure if she should follow him.

Just as she had stood and smoothed her dress with her free hand, the door opened, and before Elizabeth could turn, Darcy was before her, crushing her in his embrace. The letters scattered to the floor, and Elizabeth tried to voice her astonishment but found that her words were halted by a hard kiss on her lips that could not fail but to evoke her desire once again.

"Before you speak, wife, you WILL hear me out. You may no longer deny me my rightful place beside you. I love you, and I desire to be beside you even when you are unwell, and I will not allow you to make yourself miserable any longer."

Gleaning his purpose, Elizabeth's eyes sparkled, and she retorted, trying her hardest to remain stern, "What if I do not wish you to stay, Sir?"

"_You_ have no say in the matter. I assure you that argument is fruitless. I will not compromise, and I assure you, Elizabeth, that I intend to exercise my right for your conformity to my wishes. Must I remind you of your wedding vows?"

Elizabeth laughed heartily, as Darcy swung her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. "And what is your will, Sir?" she asked in mock subservience.

"You shall soon discover it, madam." His eyes rested on Elizabeth's delightful smile, her dimples teasing him with the implied mischievousness that he always associated with them. "But you must always smile... and laugh! I have caused you to cry too much for my liking, and you, my darling, were not meant to cry!"

Elizabeth smiled. "You wrote that in one of your letters." She ran a hand through Darcy's thick curls, giggling as his eyes closed and his face took on an expression of unconcealed bliss at her touch.

"How did you like my display, Lizzie? Was it what you had in mind? Did it make up for my foolishness in not doing so when you turned me from your bedside?"

"Oh, it definitely exceeded every expectation of the pleasure such an action would have incited," she crooned.

"Now that we have that done with, I am taking you above stairs, my dearest love." Elizabeth tried to suppress her laughter and shock as Darcy proceeded to carry her to her bedchamber, her cheeks flushing in mortification as he refused to release her to uphold propriety, yet her body and emotions betrayed her even as her mind fought it.

Please review...


	31. Chapter 31

_Here is my new chapter. Thanks again to Gayle for the BETA work. Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter 31**

Elizabeth had not realised how cold she had become as she had been sitting in her parlour, and she looked at the roaring fire in the outer room of her bedchamber in appreciation. Darcy, finally consenting to release her, had deposited her to stand in front of its warmth and briefly removed himself to his chamber.

Elizabeth stood facing the fire, her hands extended to the warm flames, as her happiness threatened to overflow, rising up within her like a flood. She heard him enter, and when she turned to face him, her mouth went dry at the sight of Darcy, clad in just his shirt and breeches, the strong cords of his neck tantalising her with the desire to touch them. She stared down at his bare feet, and Darcy aimed a lop-sided grin at Elizabeth, before striding to her side, exhibiting all of the restraint of a wayward school boy. She thought that he had never looked more charming.

Darcy took Elizabeth's hands and drew her down to sit cross legged on the rug, and she looked at him in pleasant bewilderment. "What are you planning?" she asked suspiciously, as Darcy retrieved the tray that he had ordered earlier, and placed it in front of her. He lay down beside her, propped on one elbow so that they were not touching, yet so close that he could have rested his head in Elizabeth's lap if he so desired. He smiled up at her lazily, and Elizabeth could not help but notice the unruly curls atop his head that caused her to itch to touch them.

"Since you seem to enjoy lounging on rugs so much, I have decided that we shall have a picnic in front of the fire tonight."

"Oh you have?" Elizabeth looked at him archly, a playful smile on her lips, as she lost the battle with her desires and tenderly ran one of her hands through the wayward curls that tempted her. Darcy poured _one_ glass of wine and set it down in front of Elizabeth and filled _one_ plate with a selection of bread, cheese, cold meat and fruit from the tray.

"I have," he confirmed, "and we are sharing," he added huskily. His eyes did not leave hers as he rested the plate before her and then calmly handed Elizabeth a piece of bread with cold ham. Dropping her hand from his hair lazily, she reached for it and waited until he had prepared his own portion before she started to eat.

As they ate, Darcy and Elizabeth could not take their eyes from each other; they were connected with a powerful palpable force. Elizabeth found that as the meal continued, her breathing became increasingly unsteady, and it was difficult to concentrate on eating the morsels that Darcy handed her. She was being devoured by his gaze – every time Darcy took a bite, she imagined that it was her that he caressed with his lips, and she found herself blushing as the unladylike thoughts corrupted her mind.

But if Elizabeth thought that there was something profoundly intimate about sharing food from one plate as her husband stared at her, then the experience of sharing wine from one goblet was undoubtedly indecent to her mind. Every time the glass was passed between them, their fingers brushed and sparks shot between them, and even just knowing that his lips had touched the same place from which Elizabeth now drank, created in her an immeasurable warmth as deep arousal suffused her entire body – she could feel the heat of her skin beneath her clothes– until she felt she would burst into flames. In a moment, Elizabeth knew that she would be forced to move away from the fire; though she was uncertain that even doing so would cool her blood. No words were spoken as they partook of the private meal, but their eyes rarely left each other, and the unfaltering gaze surrounded them with a new tension that threatened to snap.

Darcy, too, found himself deeply aroused by the shared impromptu picnic. He had not realised when he had started on this course, just how stimulating such a meal could be. He found the innocently heated expression in Elizabeth's eyes as she unconsciously reacted to the tension that enveloped them, to be like a drug to him – and he was intoxicated. He could not force his eyes to leave her face, captivated as he was by every changing expression on it, innocence mixed with desire, confusion mixed with delight, as though she did not understand how to respond to her own anticipation. He found himself gratified every time Elizabeth's cheeks flushed and enchanted as the meal continued that it seemed only to increase. Right now, while sitting by the fire with her legs crossed, her brown eyes liquid pools which hid nothing from him, her breasts rising and falling in increasing agitation, Elizabeth was magnificent. Darcy did not think that he could _ever_ want her more than he did at this moment, and he ached to undress her and crush her to his chest.

Instead, with fingers that shook with barely contained passion, Darcy took a grape from the plate, and reached up his arm to offer it to her, shaking his head in amusement when she attempted to take it with her hands. Warily, Elizabeth parted her lips to accept the fruit, finally casting her eyes downwards as the intensity of his gaze became too much, and she could do nothing to stop the sigh that escaped her as the burst of flavour spread over her tongue. Darcy could not move his gaze from Elizabeth's rosy lips as she ate, and he found himself cursing himself for envying a piece of fruit for the pleasure it could give to his beloved.

"You are breathtaking, Lizzie," he spoke on a breath, unable to maintain the silence a moment longer, watching her constant blush deepen even further.

When Elizabeth looked up again and fixed her eyes upon him, Darcy knew that something had changed. Before she had been so innocently beguiling, yet now, there was a heat in her eyes that was new to Darcy. She took a grape from the plate, and smirked as she returned the favour and held it out for him, and gasped when Darcy, unhesitatingly, took the grape and the tip of her finger into his mouth in the same moment.

Elizabeth was overcome with shyness as she tried unsuccessfully to repress her response to the sensation that shot through her fingertip and spread over her entire body. She closed her eyes in an effort to hide it. It felt like the first time – it had been so long since they had spent the night together, and now, Elizabeth felt there was so much more intimacy between them. Her hand was now within Darcy's warm grasp, and his lips proceeded to unhurriedly explore every inch of it, teasing her until finally tasting the skin of her wrist and tracing his tongue over the delicate veins that he found there.

Darcy knew that he could not continue for much longer without taking his wife to bed. Ever since he had seen her early that morning, flushed and warm in sleep, he had wanted her; a want that he had suppressed until this very moment. He paused in his thorough exploration of Elizabeth's wrist and gazed up at her, taking a deep breath at the sight of her watching his ministrations from beneath her long lashes, a small smile on her lips. He took a moment to admire her beauty, adorned as she was in a gown of sea-green muslin, her hair arranged expertly atop her head, so that small curls escaped, their very purpose to torture him. Darcy took one of Elizabeth's ankles in his grip and slowly slid her slipper off, pausing only to place a kiss upon the jutting bone of her inner ankle beneath her stocking, before repeating the action with her other foot.

Elizabeth was in heaven. Still she had not spoken – there were no words for how her husband was making her feel. Every touch of his hand, every caress of his mouth, did nought but to increase her love and her desire. Now his palms were running up her thigh to locate the top of her stocking, and unclasping it from her garter, ever-so-slowly rolled the delicate silk down her smooth leg, with a wicked grin adorning his face as Elizabeth shuddered and shivered beneath his hands.

As he continued with the other stocking, Elizabeth took the opportunity to gaze at her husband in unashamed abandon. Her eyes were glazed as she admired the form of Darcy, confidently resting on one elbow as he awakened her passion ever so slowly. His hair curled over his forehead so that all she wanted was to smooth it away, and Elizabeth reached out her free hand to do just that, enjoying the sensation of the thickness as it slipped through her fingers. She could just see the slight dusting of hair that covered his chest as it came up above the open neck of his linen shirt, and she found herself wanting her hands to now be _there_ over his warm chest to feel his bare skin against them. Her hand trailed from its hold in his hair and moved slowly downwards, but before she was able to reach her destination, Darcy caught her fingers in his and stopped her.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in frustration that only served to amuse Darcy, and Elizabeth glared at him as he chuckled at her.

"A woman thwarted..." he joked, and Elizabeth found herself smiling despite her attempts to pout. "Well, my darling, you will not remain thwarted for long."

"Promise?" Elizabeth asked huskily, her eyes following Darcy's movements as he rose and knelt behind her.

"Do you not trust me?" His hot breath fell upon the nape of her neck as Darcy's fingers deftly unbuttoned her gown, and he ran his hands down her arms as he removed it so that it pooled in a heap around her hips. His hands trailed slowly back up Elizabeth's arms, and stopped at the bandaged shoulder of her left side. Though not possible, Elizabeth could have sworn that she could feel the heat of Darcy's lips as they seemed to brand her through the bandage.

"Lizzie," he murmured softly. "Does it still hurt?" He rested his chin gently on her shoulder and nuzzled her neck with his face.

"Not so much," Elizabeth replied, turning her cheek to rest against him. "Right now, I am feeling _nothing_ but what you are doing to me."

His lips began to move, first to kiss the side of her neck and then to trace their way up to her ear and along her cheekbone, as his fingertips traced the very edge of the bandage, along her collarbone and up to her opposite cheek in an achingly slow movement, so that by the time that his lips reached the side of her lips, his hand turned her face towards his so that he could cover her lips with his in a burning kiss that had them both gasping for more.

Slow, unhurried love-making appeared now forgotten, as Darcy's hands and lips burned a path over Elizabeth's uncovered skin, and her hands reached behind to touch whatever part of him she could reach. In a moment of brief respite as Darcy attempted to catch his breath, his arms came around Elizabeth's waist and pulled her against his chest, as he whispered to her how magnificent she was and how enthralled he was by her. Elizabeth used the moment to run the palms of her hands up his strong forearms, and savour the sensation of his chest pressed up against her.

"You are my love," she breathed. "My heart belongs only to you."

"Thank you," Darcy spoke, his heart stirred once again by Elizabeth's devotion, once again in awe that she had ever looked at him. Gathering her into his arms, Darcy stood and carried his wife towards her bed, setting her down only to remove her remaining clothes, then assisting her trembling fingers in the removal of his.

"Turn around, my love," Darcy spoke softly to her, and when she did so, his hands delved into her carefully arranged curls, removing first the combs and then every hairpin that he could find, until all that soft brown hair tumbled down Elizabeth's back.

"The combs are lovely, Fitzwilliam. Thank you for giving them to me." Elizabeth turned around and gazed at Darcy with such a look of passion that he could not draw breath.

"I would give you anything that you desired; you know that do you not, my darling Lizzie?" Darcy placed Elizabeth on the bed and came beside her, running his fingers through the long strands of her hair that fanned beneath her.

"I need nothing but you, my dearest husband." There was no need for further conversation as Darcy's lips covered Elizabeth's and the lovers expressed all of their deepest emotions without words.

* * *

_Elizabeth shrank back against the cold stone wall, suddenly in her prison once again. She could hear voices coming from out of the pitch black darkness, and turned her face to locate the speakers, but she could not find them._

_She felt a piercing pain shoot through her ribs, then the cruel voice of Harvey taunting her. Elizabeth whirled her head from side to side, but to no avail – it seemed to be voices only in her head. Wickham's voice spoke her name, then shrieked in blood-curdling tones, and Elizabeth knew that if Darcy came, they would kill him._

_In a flash she could see them, first nothing more than the gleam of fetid teeth, the scent of rancid breath filling the already dank space, until suddenly there they were, in full flesh, looming over her – Harvey, with pure evil reflected in his brutal countenance, and Wickham, smug and sure of himself even as he continued to attempt to charm._

"_He will die, Elizabeth, make no mistake about that!" Their voices joined in taunting chants, until the only thing that could stop the sound was for her to clap her hands over her ears. Then came the agony, and Darcy was there in front of her, promising that nothing could hurt her. _

_But as he came closer, the figures of Wickham and Harvey lingered behind, rapier sharp knives glistening in the single ray of moonlight. _

It was her own scream that woke her, and Elizabeth sat up in sickening, terrifying panic. Her breath came in short gasps, and in the moments that followed, no matter what she did, Elizabeth could not calm enough to stop the pounding of her heart.

Darcy sat up, too, a worried frown creasing his features as he took in the sight of his wife in the midst of terror. He drew her back against his bared chest and caressed her hair and shoulders in an attempt to calm her. "Elizabeth, what is it?" he asked tenderly, stroking the sweat from her face, as his breathing finally slowed.

"It was a dream," she managed to whisper shakily as she curled her body into Darcy's, resting her hand over his heart to feel the steady beat. "Just a dream."

"Trust me, Lizzie?" Darcy entreated, as his hands moved comfortingly over every inch of her that he could reach. "Confide in me. Tell me what your dream was about," he murmured against her skin.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, knowing that now was the time. She had to speak of it – the capture, the cruelty, the pain, and those horrible men – if she did not, she would never have a chance to heal.

"I dreamed that they were going to kill you..." she started shakily, and Elizabeth rested her head against his chest for the duration. "Those men – Wickham and Harvey. They were telling me that when you came for me, they would end your life and that then they would... hurt me."

"Elizabeth, I am here. They cannot harm me; they cannot harm _you_. We are safe." Tears filled her eyes and dripped slowly down onto Darcy's skin. "Do you wish to tell me what happened?" Dread filled Darcy's heart as he braced himself for the story, promising himself that he would not get angry when all that Elizabeth needed was his comfort.

"I was so angry with you that day. When they took us, they came from nowhere – Harvey and some other men. I begged them to let Lucy go, but they would not. When we reached Percival House, they dragged us down to the room where you eventually found us. They taunted me and told me that they would kill you. Wickham was frightening – for a time I thought he had gone mad. He truly believed that I married you for your money only, and that I would happily run away with him. I prayed and wished and dreamed and hoped that you would find me, Fitzwilliam. I wanted nothing more than to have you pick me up in your arms and bring me home." Elizabeth paused, swallowing a sob, as Darcy whispered soothing words into her hair.

"I wish I had gotten there earlier, my love."

"I came up with a plan and distracted the men so that at least Lucy could escape. She ran, and then I ran. They caught me quickly, and that is when..." she placed a hand to her ribs in remembrance of the pain that Harvey had caused her. "Harvey kicked me... I thought I might die, but I truly wanted to die right there when they caught Lucy and brought her back. I hoped so desperately that she would escape. I do not know how much longer I would have lasted had you not arrived when you did, Fitzwilliam. All I know is that my heart was flooded with joy and relief when I heard your voice, and I knew that I could stop being strong and that you would take me away from there."

Elizabeth cried against Darcy for long minutes, finally releasing the memories of her anguish that she had bottled up for so long. Inwardly Darcy was filled with a hot rage against his cousin and Wickham and the other men that had plotted to hurt his beloved wife, so that he wanted nothing more than to hunt them down and make them suffer. Outwardly, he controlled that rage, and spoke sweet words into Elizabeth's hair and tried to ensure that she felt secure.

After a time, Elizabeth's tears ceased, and she stirred against him, small hands wiping the wetness from his chest. "I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I did not wish to burden you with that," she said softly.

"Oh my darling wife, I am relieved that you told me. I cannot tell you that it was not difficult to hear, for the very idea of you being made to endure even a fraction of what you did, sends arrows through my heart. I thank God every day that you are still with me. But, you cannot suffer this alone, Lizzie. From this day forward, whenever you are plagued by these dreams, I will be here to chase the demons away. One day, I pray, that awful time will be nothing but an unpleasant distant memory."

Elizabeth could not help but smile as Darcy attempted without words to banish the memories from her mind, and finally, after it all, she slept peacefully encircled within his arms.

* * *

The day was perfect. At least it was perfect to Elizabeth and Darcy as they walked together over the grounds of Pemberley. Their pace was unhurried, relaxing in the cool afternoon breeze, as the scents of nature drifted over them. Elizabeth's hand rested on Darcy's forearm, and his free hand covered hers, clasping it tightly. They spoke of everything and nothing, now that all was resolved between them, perfectly contented to be close to the other.

As they neared their destination, Elizabeth had to fight the urge to skip like a young girl, or run so that they would get there faster. Darcy could only chuckle at her eagerness.

They heard the sounds of children playing and, turning a corner, they came into view. The children saw Elizabeth and Darcy at almost the same moment that she saw them, as a sound of perfect joy escaped her lips.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie." Their excited screams were music to Elizabeth's ears. She turned to Darcy with a smile of undisguised happiness.

"Go," he urged his wife, a wide smile gracing his face.

"Fitzwilliam, thank you," she spoke, as she withdrew her arm from atop Darcy's, briefly cupping his cheek in gratitude, and then she ran towards the children, coming to her knees before them as they launched themselves into her arms.

"Darlings. How I have missed you!" The tone of her voice illustrated the depth of affection that Elizabeth felt for Lucy and Peter, the children who had captured her generous heart. "How are you sweetheart?" she asked Lucy with a concerned frown, placing a kiss upon the girl's forehead, gratified when the girl only smiled up at her in pure contentment.

"She bin missing you, madam, but otherwise Lucy is perfect." Peter, the children's father stepped forward and addressed Elizabeth.

"Does she get upset by what happened?" Elizabeth asked quietly, standing, her hands stroking Lucy's hair as the girl clung onto her leg while she expressed her delight with peals of laughter.

"No, ma'am, 'cepting she wanted to see you. She were better a few days after we got 'er 'ome."

"I am relieved then. I am afraid that she witnessed some horrible things. Those men were truly evil." Elizabeth shuddered, her eyes misting over with a faraway look. Darcy stepped behind her and placed a supporting hand on her back, startling her out of her reverie, and Elizabeth could not help but smile up at him.

"'Twere my fault, ma'am. Please forgive me for 'elping that scoundrel." Peter hung his head in shame.

Elizabeth glanced down at Lucy, whose blue eyes stared up at her with a mischievous gleam that reminded her of her own childhood. "Darling, why do you not gather a bouquet of flowers for your mama?" Elizabeth suggested, and Lucy, agreeing that it was a fine idea, ran off with her brother to comply. She waited until the children were out of hearing range before Elizabeth continued, "Mr Smith, Mr Darcy has told me of everything that happened, how Wickham blackmailed you into helping him, and most especially of the help that you gave in finding us when we were captured. You must think no more on what happened, as I am confident that you learned a difficult lesson."

Peter nodded, turning to watch his beloved children, his pain in the knowledge that through his actions, he could have lost one of them.

"Mr Darcy and I would like you to return to your employment at Pemberley, and if your wife would like to work as a maid in my house, she would also be welcomed."

Peter glanced up sharply, the words the last ones that he expected to hear. His mouth gaped as he could not form a response to the generous offer.

Elizabeth's eyes danced and she spoke gaily, "Shall I take that as a yes then, Mr Smith?"

Peter could only nod and stammer out his thanks, not doing justice to the gratefulness that he felt at the undeserved kindness of Mr and Mrs Darcy.

* * *

Elizabeth stood on the balcony in nothing but her white nightgown, the cool evening air blowing gently over her, her eyes fixed on the beauty of the lake which sparkled in the moonlight. Today had been perfect – waking in the arms of her beloved husband, pleasantly sensitive from the night before, seeing her beautiful Lucy and Peter and being able to make a family very happy, and now, being able to appreciate the beauty of her lovely home, while waiting for her gorgeous husband to come to her.

"Lizzie..." Darcy padded barefoot out onto the balcony and wrapped his arms around Elizabeth's waist. His lips pressed a hot kiss to her cheek as he rested his own against hers. "What are you doing out here?"

Elizabeth sighed softly, a sound of deep appreciation for the blessings of her life. "I was just thinking about the night when I first saw you, and wondering what I ever did to deserve the good fortune that brought you to me."

"Lizzie, I am the truly fortunate one, for if not for your love and your influence, I would be a different man today. Most likely unhappy... " He kissed the corner of her lip. "Irritable..." The side of her neck. "Prideful..." The curve where her shoulder met her collarbone. "And arrogant..." His hands swung her around to face him.

Elizabeth laughed as Darcy pressed kisses all over her face. "Fine, fine!" she exclaimed, and attempted to hold herself away from him. "We were _both_ lucky then. If you had never come to Netherfield, _I_ would not be a rich man's wife, and _you_ would not have a wife of such beauty, wit and intelligence. Not to mention," Elizabeth skipped out of Darcy's arms and into the room, "one who can run rings around you!" Her laughter filled the room as Darcy stalked her playfully.

"Minx," Darcy exclaimed, as he finally trapped her against the wall, kissing her into submission, a submission which Elizabeth was only too happy to give in to. "So where is she?" he asked after a long time in which Elizabeth's arms had wound around his neck and her body pressed against his. He smiled teasingly as she looked at him with confusion filling her expressive eyes.

"Where is whom?"

"This beautiful, witty and intelligent wife that you promised me was around here somewhere?" He chuckled as Elizabeth raised her eyebrow archly.

"You, Sir, had best be careful. That beautiful, witty and intelligent wife is not above throwing you from her bedchamber..." She laughed hysterically as Darcy's hands caught her as she would have escaped and pushed her gently back against the wall.

"Oh, no. You, woman, are never spending a night in a separate chamber again." He growled and buried his lips in her neck.

When he had Elizabeth sighing and moaning in his arms, Darcy pulled back. "I have something for you, my little tease," he spoke, withdrawing a flat box from his coat pocket. He opened the box to reveal a necklace to match her combs, with a teardrop emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds at the centre and five detailed gold filigree balls on either side of the gem. "I had this made especially for you, dearest Elizabeth. For all of the tears that you shed over me," he pointed to the tiny diamonds; "the light that you bring to my life," he touched the gold filigree balls that glowed like a thousand suns; "and the love that you have shown me," he stroked the stunning emerald at the centre. "Emeralds are the sacred stone of Venus – _you_ are _my_ Venus, Lizzie."

Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes as she gazed down at the magnificent gift and at the beauty of Darcy's words. "It is beautiful, Fitzwilliam. I do not deserve such a precious gift."

"Elizabeth, I meant what I said outside earlier. You saved me, and made me a better man. Such a small gift cannot even begin to repay everything that I owe to you. But there... it was not supposed to make you cry," Darcy's hands framed Elizabeth's face, and his thumbs tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I told you that you are not allowed to cry anymore."

"What if they are happy tears?" she asked softly, taking his hand within hers and kissing it reverently. "Thank you, my love."

Darcy moved behind Elizabeth and with expert fingers secured the jewel around her neck, kissing the place where the clasp rested. "You are beautiful," he whispered when he came around her body and observed the picture of his wife in nothing but her nightgown and her emerald necklace.

"So are you," Elizabeth held out her hand, and smiled tremulously as Darcy placed his around hers, and with that tender touch, Darcy and Elizabeth began the rest of their lives.

_Please comment _


	32. Chapter 32

_Finally – the final chapter of my story. I hope that you are all satisfied with the epilogue. Thanks to everyone who has read my story and especially those that have commented. The comments are much appreciated and have helped me to actually finish a story. Of course, Gayle was also very instrumental in this too. Thanks to her for all of her hard work. You are a star, Gayle!_

**Epilogue**

On the occasion of the second ball hosted by Mr and Mrs Darcy at Pemberley, just a few short months after the first consummate success, Elizabeth met Darcy at the bottom of the stairs, but this time, nothing could stop him from unashamedly admiring her beauty. Adorned in a gown of the purest white silk, threaded with silver and green, the high waistline flattered her graceful figure. In her perfectly arranged chocolate curls, two gold combs embedded with emeralds took pride of place, and around her neck, nestled the diamond and emerald necklace that her adoring husband had so lovingly bestowed.

Darcy's lips lingered over Elizabeth's hands – when all he wanted was to kiss her properly upon the lips. They communicated without words – he telling her of her unparalleled beauty – and she imparting to him the bliss that their marriage had become.

All too soon, the guests began to arrive, and Elizabeth and Darcy found themselves obliged to relinquish each other's exclusive company, although their eyes and senses always were always instinctively attuned to the other.

That Elizabeth Darcy was wholly in love with her husband, the members of the ton could no longer doubt. The usual gossip that she had married him for his money could not stand against the obvious reality of the situation. The way she watched his every move with sparkling, adoring eyes, and smiled her radiant smile just for him, the way she melted into his arms at every dance, could not be mistaken.

The greater surprise this night was the transformation of Fitzwilliam Darcy – the polite but remote man of the previous ball was quite vanished. Whereas before he had tolerated the ball with barely controlled impatience and had studiously avoided going anywhere near his lovely wife, now his passionate feelings for her were on display for all to see. He caught her eye at every opportunity, smiled openly across the room at her, and touched her at every opportunity.

Guests of the ball would in the future discuss the Pemberley ball as an anomaly – the host and hostess barely danced without the other – and displayed unashamed delight in the fact. The women of the ton were more enamoured of Darcy than ever – the warmth and enthusiasm in his brown eyes caused many a heart to be unfailingly trapped. The men were equally infatuated with Elizabeth, and many would have done most anything to win her heart.

Though none stood a chance – for that night, and every night after, Darcy and Elizabeth would ascend the stairs to their shared chamber, hand in hand, sharing smiles filled with secret delights.

And while the unchecked gossip that Darcy and his wife were unfailingly eccentric continued to circulate throughout the highest levels of society, most of the gentlemen wished that they could be so happy in their choice of wife, and most of the ladies – whether married or maiden – secretly admitted to themselves that they were envious of the obvious love that the couple shared and hoped that someday such emotion would be theirs.

* * *

Peter Smith was loyal to the Darcy's from the moment that he had been dismissed from Pemberley, his devotion to both Mr and Mrs Darcy only increasing for the service that they rendered in keeping his innocent Lucy safe from the scoundrels that had wished them all harm.

On the day when the beautiful mistress had offered him a better job, and with it, the forgiveness and trust of the occupants of Pemberley, Peter swore an oath to himself that he would do everything in his power to ensure the safety of Mrs Darcy and any future Darcy children.

After his work was done for the day, Peter could often be found on the grounds, watching out for the mistress when she was alone, which was, thankfully, not very often these days.

And his children continued to adore the mistress; she helped to educate them and raise them above their station, going so far as to promise to pay for their schooling in future years.

Peter was humbled by the undeserved forgiveness and unmerited charity of the Darcy family, and to everyone he met, he spoke of the true benevolence that cloaked the estate of Pemberley, for Elizabeth Darcy's presence effused all that was good and kind.

* * *

Catherine settled in to life with her Aunt Sarah and her family in Scotland, her pregnancy obvious within a few short weeks of her arrival.

She rushed into a quick marriage with her older cousin Harry, a simple man, but one who adored her and promised to care for her child as his own. If Catherine ever regretted her life in England, she tried to forget it, taking comfort in the kindness and compassion of her relations who loved her unconditionally.

She never thought of Wickham again, except to wish that she had never fallen for the insincere professions of his devotion; now that she knew true love, she would always regret having known the touch of another man.

She remembered with fondness the occupants of Pemberley, especially her charming former mistress. Had her life turned out differently, Catherine knew that she should have enjoyed working for the Darcy's for as long as she was able.

* * *

Harvey was never seen nor heard from again by the people on whom he had unleashed pain and suffering. His reprehensible ways followed him to his new homeland. He found himself stranded on the shores of the Americas, the untamed wilderness setting a spring in his step. Here Harvey was free – he could do what he wanted.

So he did. He led a life of debauchery and seduction. Many men found their wives engaging in scandalous flirtations with him, many a gambler found themselves cheated by him.

And it was one cold night, not long after his arrival, that Harvey's body was found beside the water trough, blood surrounding him where it had bled from his slit throat – lifeless, staring – his worthless existence snuffed out by the blade of a knife.

* * *

George Wickham could not help but wish he were dead, instead of living this half-life of torment and pain. _I don't deserve this, _he thought in anger, as he listened to the sounds of Lydia, his stupid wife, laughing with the officers of his former regiment.

_How dare she?_ He fumed. _How dare she entertain other men in my house, and while I am sitting but a room away? _Wickham was trapped – trapped in a useless body that would not obey his slightest command. _Better to have died in the accident_, he thought.

In the months that had followed his rescue from the wreckage, Wickham had often wished he were dead. The world was no place for a cripple, yet he was so much worse than merely crippled. Confined to a rickety wheelchair that he was unable even to move himself, Wickham was paralysed from the neck down. His arms and legs were useless, and he would never enjoy the pleasures of being with a woman again – for him the worst punishment imaginable. His life until the accident had been devoted to fulfilling his carnal appetites and his greed for money and power. Yet now, there was nothing. He was worthless, reliant on a stupid wife who only reminded him of the woman he would never have.

Lydia had decided to stay with him because of the money that he had acquired prior to his accident, the half payment that Anne De Bourgh had given him before feeding him to the wolves. Lydia spent the money like so much spare change until there could not possibly have been enough left to live on, yet somehow, they still had a roof over their heads and food on the table. Wickham cringed at the thought of food – mealtimes for him consisted of being spoon-fed like a child, his chin wiped clean when he was unable to manage.

He had long suspected that Lydia "earned" her money by entertaining men... often he heard grunts of unknown origin when he lay in bed late at night, wishing for death... wishing for the means to bring about his death; yet, with no functioning arms and no functioning legs, there was no way he could anticipate the day of his natural death. No, Wickham would live as a miserable cripple for the rest of his natural life, never socialising... never able to bring misery on another woman again.

He spent his nights wishing for the treacherous Anne De Bough's horrific end, cursing Darcy and knowing that his most reviled enemy had earned the love and respect of the one woman who he desired above all others.

* * *

As fiercely as she had fought the charges, with no money at her disposal and no support of the ton or her family, Anne De Bourgh faced the court within the month, the hastening of the legal procedures perhaps assisted by those of influence in society who were revolted by what she had done.

Elizabeth Darcy was the darling of society now – the injustices that she had endured merely adding to her appeal. And Anne was cursed with the knowledge that her cousin – her intended – had chosen Elizabeth over her, not once, but over and over again_. "Elizabeth is the only woman that I will ever love, madam. I must inform you that there was never a chance of my marrying you, cousin, even from the first meetings in our childhood. You were always sullen, insipid and unkind, yet I would never have believed that you would sink so low. Then, I felt pity for you. Now, I feel nothing... I cannot even hate you; you are not even worthy of that emotion." _The words tormented her again and again, reverberating through her mind as Anne awaited sentencing, madness infesting like a plague inside her.

It was with the knowledge that her plans had not even nearly succeeded – with the awareness that Darcy never left Elizabeth's side – that Anne De Bourgh found herself aboard a ship to Botany Bay, the end of the earth, with no money, no friends, and no influence.

Until the last moment, much as Wickham had anticipated her own assistance in preventing his charges, Anne had expected her mother to save her from a fate such as the one she would now endure.

She had heard tales of dark people with spears in a land of barren desert and uncultivated wilderness; accounts of abductions and cruelty towards women were commonplace. Maybe in this new land, her sickly looks would save her. Anne found her nights aboard the rocking ship filled with torturous dreams and wrenching seasickness; her days were filled with the leering gazes of dangerous men – not unlike Harvey – men who did not seem to respect her status as a lady and did not appear to be repelled by her appearance.

Anne shivered throughout each night as she tried to keep warm in her bed, the memory of Darcy's words, the beauty and regal presence of Elizabeth, sickening her more and more; her mind and body awaited an attack from any one of a number of men who watched her with leering eyes.

The journey was long and arduous, and Anne De Bourgh became ill, her body afflicted with scurvy, her mind riddled with unresolved torment. After eight months aboard the ship, just ten days prior to the ship's arrival in the colony, she died screaming in an agony of suffering, her eyes mad and her soul finding no peace even in death.

* * *

Lady Catherine De Bourgh often sat on her "throne" at Rosings Park – never completely forgiven by her family, whom she had spent years attempting to patronise.

Her life was empty. Whereas before she was constantly attended by her daughter Anne and her daughter's companion, now she found herself alone in the large room, no one about to hear her pronouncements, let alone heed them. Criticism was a thing of the past – she often recalled the days when Elizabeth Bennet had visited Hunsford, her liveliness a breath of fresh air in the stifled halls of Rosings – even though she was loath to admit it.

On the day when she would receive word that her daughter Anne had died, Lady Catherine would feel a part of herself die as well, and on that awful day she would also resolve to attempt to reconcile with her Darcy and Fitzwilliam relations.

On that day, she would take out a quill and paper, and write a long missive to Mr Fitzwilliam and Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, begging their forgiveness, which in the true spirit of compassion, of course, they would! And so she would spend the final years of her mostly miserable life cheered only by the joy of the love that her nephew and niece, along with their children, would always share, even with an aunt who was totally undeserving of it.

* * *

_Three months later_

"Where are you taking me?" Elizabeth laughed, sneaking a hand up in an attempt to remove her blindfold.

"Oh, no, you do not..." Darcy admonished, grabbing for her hands and holding them firmly within his own. "It is a surprise!"

"You know that I am not particularly fond of surprises," Elizabeth complained teasingly. "Are we almost there?"

"Do not be so impatient, Lizzie!" Darcy's lips landed quickly on his wife's forehead, as he continued to lead her forwards.

The fresh spring breeze wafted around them, the bright sun shining down and bathing them in its delightful warmth. Elizabeth, unable to see her surroundings, caught the drifting scent of roses and gardenias, and the happy aroma of the flowering season. She was enchanted with it. She was more than pleased to follow the playful lead of Darcy, her husband, her rock. His ever-constant presence had enveloped her in the past months, and he had determined to not only shower her with tokens of his affection, but to include her in the making of all of his decisions so that there would be no more misunderstandings between them such as had plagued them in the past.

The horror of that time had finally dwindled, and the nightmares which had at first plagued Elizabeth had become a very rare occurrence. And when she did suffer from one, waking in shuddering fear, her devoted husband was always beside her – stroking her hair, massaging her neck, kissing her fears away – so that soon she was lost in the pleasure of the present and the promise of the future, the fear and pain again taking its proper place in the past.

A part of Elizabeth would never forget those days as a captive, the leering grin of Harvey, the madness of Wickham, the constant waiting, as if on the edge of a knife, to be rescued; yet, she knew that her marriage to Darcy, her place in his heart and his place in hers, could not have become so strong and so unbreakable had it not been tested.

Now, Elizabeth knew that their lives and their souls were eternally linked with chains forged in the heat of adversity. No longer was she timid with Darcy; no longer was she afraid to show her love for him, and today, Elizabeth was going to present him with the greatest gift of all.

Her rosy lips parted, and Elizabeth smiled in sheer happiness as she blindly stumbled over the long grass as Darcy led her further away from Pemberley. "You could at least kiss me..." she pouted prettily, in a valiant attempt to distract her husband from his purpose and incite him to give her a hint. They stopped suddenly, and Elizabeth turned her lips up to await his. But his kiss did not come.

Instead, her hands were released, and she heard his retreating footsteps over the rustling grass. "Fitzwilliam," she called out. "Can I remove this confounded blindfold?" His answering laugh had her giggling in delight, and she turned to face the sound of his voice.

"Do not you dare, woman, if you value your life," he scolded. Then he was back, and Elizabeth felt the soft tickle of a rose as it brushed over her lips, which parted instinctively. Then the heady scent of the bloom as it reached her nose encircled her, and mixed with Darcy's familiar aroma, caused her to catch her breath at the feelings that were evoked.

The rose continued its journey towards Elizabeth's blushing cheeks and then circled her temples, before finally coming to rest in her hair, where Darcy tucked it into her dark curls. If Elizabeth could see her husband at that moment, her own passions would no doubt have been acted on, the blaze in his chocolate eyes enough to set fire to even the coldest emotion. "You are exquisite, Elizabeth. If I could capture this moment, it is how I would choose to remember you always – surrounded by nature, adorned with flowers, and blushing like a maiden awaiting her first kiss."

"So will you kiss me then?" Elizabeth breathed, her heart pounding with unchecked vitality.

"If you insist, my dearest..." His lips lingered above hers for devastating moments, before descending slowly to merely hint at the delights he intended to provide.

"What was that?" Elizabeth breathed unsteadily, before pressing her lips back to his and coaxing his fervent response. Their mouths sipped and tasted, demanded and bestowed, and hands traversed skin and hair, as passion exploded.

The rose fell between them, fluttering unnoticed towards the grass, the deep red a perfect contrast to the brilliant green, the scent becoming lost in the sea of springtime aromas. And finally, as the sun sank downwards over the horizon, Darcy forced himself to step back from Elizabeth, resting his forehead against hers in an effort to garner some control. Their breathing was laboured, their lips swollen and faces flushed with desire. The blindfold had long since been discarded, and as Elizabeth glanced up at the magnificent house before her, she gasped in wonder. "Why have you brought me to Covington Manor?" She turned to face Darcy, who now smiled wryly at Elizabeth.

"Do you like it?" He shrugged as she nodded her head in agreement. "I told you, Lizzie, that it was a gift to your. The deeds have been signed, and Covington Manor is now exclusively yours."

Elizabeth moved towards him, a radiant smile lighting her face. "What am I to do with it?" she whispered in wonderment.

"Whatever you desire, my love. I wanted you to have something of your own. Once I thought that you might choose to live here... apart from me..." He hesitated, the memory of that dreadful time lingering in his thoughts.

"I loved you enough then to let you go, Lizzie."

He stood behind her, as Elizabeth gazed up at the house that was now hers.

"And now?" she asked teasingly, one eyebrow rising as she glanced quickly back at Darcy.

"Now, my Lizzie..." His hands slipped around her waist, his chin rested comfortably on her shoulder, and he turned his face to whisper into her ear.

"Now..." his lips nuzzled the base of her ear. "I love you too much to let you go."

"Indeed, sir?" Elizabeth sighed, letting her neck roll backwards to rest against him. "I am glad to hear it..." She smiled secretly to herself as her small hands moved up to take his within hers. She placed a warm kiss to each of his palms, before placing them gently over her still soft abdomen, soon to become round with his child which even now grew within.

"For I do not know if I could manage to raise a Darcy child all by myself. Imagine the pride and stubborn..." Her words were stopped as Darcy reacted... swinging her around to face him, to search her sparkling eyes for truth.

"It is true?" His face was pale; his hands trembled as he held her face between them. "You carry my child?"

Elizabeth could only nod, as tears welled in her eyes, and a look of joy and wonderment slowly suffused Darcy's face.

"Oh my dearest, loveliest girl…" His words were filled with laughter, as Darcy caught Elizabeth firmly around the waist and lifted her into the air. Her joyful squeals filled the air, and her arms came around his neck, as Darcy swung Elizabeth around and around in the balmy spring evening.

When they could laugh no more, the once proud Darcy and his lovely Elizabeth lay on the soft grass, each wrapped in the arms of the other, his hand eventually resting gently below her waist as they dreamed of the day when their child would be born.

**THE END**

_**Please, please, please leave feedback. I would love to know how you all enjoyed my story! And if you did love my story, please add me to your favourite authors or author alerts list so that you see what I will soon have up and coming.**_


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